The Love Connection
by Tinsadisaster
Summary: Series of quotes inspiring short stories, with little or no connection at all, about the one thing that breaks the bonds of society and the bonds of the heart. DMHG. **Read Author's Note in Chapter 7; very important note regarding structure of this story.
1. Watering His Plants 1

**The Love Connection**

_Tinsadisaster_

Summary: Series of quotes inspiring short stories, with little or no connection at all, about the one thing that breaks the bonds of society and the bonds of the heart. DMHG

Disclaimer: This exists for governmental reasons. I will only say this once. Relish it, folks.

* * *

**Love thy neighbour – and if he happens to be tall, debonair and devastating, it will be that much easier. **

**Mae West **

* * *

Hermione Granger, at the age of 24, was living in absolute torment. She lived next door to one of the most beautiful men she had ever laid her brown eyes on and he didn't know she even existed.

"Ginny, what are you doing?"

It was the ritual Friday Night Affair and this week, it resided in Hermione's flat, as it always had because Hermione was probably the only witch who owned a Muggle television set, DVD player, and possibly all the "Chick Flicks" that ever existed. She also probably was the only witch who could tolerate a rampaging group of females, lusting for both unrealistic dreams of gorgeous leading men in their lives and Hermione's fantastic Secret Popcorn.

Ginny, along with a couple other women, were leaning on the door way, hoping to catch a glimpse of the man who lived next door. They sighed and swooned, watching the particular man leave his flat, his magnificent backside swaying away. Hermione swore Lavendar was having heart failure but then told herself Lavendar always reacted the same way whenever a respectably good-looking man passed her by.

"This week we're watching _The Notebook_. Featuring Ryan Gosling, Rachel McAdams. Premiered in 2004..." Hermione stated, as always, because this was the uniform of the beginning of each Friday Night Affair and she just simply loved facts.

"Here, here! Pop in the film and let's see some love, Grandma! If we wanted you to read the complete background of the film, we'd ask you."

Luna Lovegood's lively comment hailed a tidal wave of approval. Hermione rolled her eyes and inserted the disc into the DVD player and was immediately pulled away from the TV screen. Having watched the movie for a billion times, Hermione walked to the kitchen to prepare her popcorn, with a secret ingredient that baffled everyone, even her own mother. Her popcorn was famous within her circle of female friends but somehow not with her male friends. They said whoever ate it had to be pregnant because it was so intolerable.

Hearing the first wave of "awwws," Hermione was certain she'd be hearing complete silence for the next two hours. Of course, they'd be munching and sniffing but any loud sound would have pissed the females off and they'd roar like a pack of lions. This was a proven fact because one given Friday, Harry and Ron stumbled upon the occassion and choosed to be caroused. They entered Hermione's flat alive but barely left with their bowels intact. The event immediately sobered them but perhaps scarred them for life.

The popcorn finished and smelling absolutely tempting, was finally distributed to the women, who were beginning to tear up. Hermione felt content, watching the back of the heads of these people who she went to school with but never lost contact with. She felt herself tearing up, with the sentiment of the idea that she had company and wasn't wasting another Friday, in the fetal position, reading a book or whatnot, while the world was outside alive and definately not boring.

Hermione had a great fear of being lonely, unliked. This fear was first hinted of when she overheard Ron mimicking her quite badly, after a certain lesson, and heard the laughter that followed his snide act. She intentionally shoved him, fleeing to the bathroom, where she was annoyed by Moaning Myrtle and the constant flushing of toilets. Another event that hinted this was when the despicable blonde ferret called her a name, which she did not understand the meaning of at first, but the tone of his voice implied total loathing. She cried once again. Hermione was a cry baby disguised as a headstrong, confident ex-Head Girl who fought alongside the greatest Harry Potter and won in the war against the Dark Lord. She was now a free lance writer, though she had the credits and power to become more.

She walked out her door, hoping for fresh air. She closed the door, quietly, and leaned against it. She heard laughter ringing within her home and smiled, knowing that her home was being filled with emotion and was not so barren and cold.

"They've kicked you out, have they?"

Hermione jumped in her skin, hearing the voice of the man next door. She knew this was his voice because he was constantly visited by delivery men, who were quite chatty and positively demanded responses. His voice was low, with a familiar drawl that was as caressing as the touch of a lover.

"Huh?"

"Those women, who were staring at my bum." He said this with a smirk that pulled the strings of her heart.

"What?" Hermione blushed, wanting to slap herself. _Are you unintelligible, Hermione Granger? Can you speak more than mono-syllabic words?_

"Don't tell me you were staring also."

"Uh..."

A gigantic awkward silence ensued. He blinked.

"Right then. I'll have to put a bit more sway to my step then. Just for you." He winked and entered his flat. Hermione exhaled, relearning how to breath once again.

This man was literally breathtaking. And he knew she existed!

And more importantly, she really needed to learn this man's name.

* * *

Hermione Granger learned something about her neighbor.

Hermione Granger was living next door to an underwear model.

She said this over and over again in her head but it sounded like a bunch of words randomly picked out and put together.

Of all the luck in the world, she lived next door to one of the sexiest underwear models. She was scared for her life. Recently, she'd been stalked by a group of women who were hoping to meet him through her. They threatened her with meetings in dark alleys, their fearfully masculine, muscled female acquantainces, and knuckle sandwiches, which didn't sound appetizing at all. This was a major problem. Firstly, these women were crazy. Secondly, she barely knew him. He was almost always away or laying siege in his apartment, being visited by delivery men from time to time. Her first face-to-face encounter was that Friday night. Most of the time, she observed him from afar.

His name was Dean Matherson. He was an underwear model for a trendy underwear brand. His face was chiseled by the gods, along with his body. His hair was a shade between blonde and brown. He walked with confidence and allure. He had precise fashion sense, though he was not flaunting it too obviously. He was her leading man in her dreams.

* * *

She was at the market, shopping for the Friday Night Affair. 

She saw her special ingredient lying on the very top of the shelves. She was not the most vertically endowed witch that existed but she thought maybe by standing on the tips of her toes and stretching her hands till they almost popped out of her sockets would get the item she needed. She reached up, her shirt riding up and flashing her midsection.

"Gosh... Why were my parents so short!"

She felt the item at the very tips of her fingers and was pulling it her way when she felt somehow from behind hold her close with one hand while the other easily grabbed the product. She blushed, not knowing anything else to do. She felt the person step back and she twirled, ready to thank the stranger and run away.

"They say good things come in small packages."

Oh. Merlin.

That was probably the most cheesiest quote that ever was quoted but when it came from Dean Matherson, it was absolute gold. She thanked him and moved to promptly run away but was cut off by the lovely arm of the model slash demigod.

"Would you like to have dinner with me, neighbor?"

Hermione felt her heart would burst any second. _Am I dreaming? Is this real? Did the demigod just ask me out on a date?_

"Well, it's not a date really. More like a get together, you know?"

_Okay, scratch that. Not a date. _

"At my flat."

_Intelligible thought ends here._

"OK."

* * *

"I ordered Chinese. I'm not much of a cook really. I kind of was raised with privileges like chefs. Sadly, I think it's the reason why I can't even make instant noodles. With or without magic." 

Hermione smiled, entering the threshold of Dean's home. She observed the barren walls and bland furniture, quite disappointed. She was thinking he'd have a "tricked out pad." She recently had a conversation with her neice, who tried to teach her modern terminology but apparently, it just wasn't her.

"Can you keep a secret for me, neighbor?"

_You're in love with me? You want me to be your sex slave? You're a con man? You like to be naked? You're a woman (please Merlin don't be)? You're a fugitive running away from the Ministry? You've got a rat problem? You've been hiding from the Australian magical officers?_

"Sure." Hermione tried to say this carelessly.

"My name is not Dean Matherson."

_Whoa whoa whoa. Hold on, buddy. What's going on? _

Hermione's eyes widened and she probably looked like a mouse.

"Let me explain... after dinner."

They ate their chow mein and sweet and sour pork in silence. John Doe, Merlin knows what his name really was, cleared the dishes and sat them at a comfortable couch.

"So here's the story..."

* * *

"DRACO MALFOY!" Hermione jumped up from her seat.

"Calm down, Hermione."

"What's going on here, Malfoy?" Hermione immediately set her balled fists on her hips.

"Remember when I said this was a secret you had to keep? Give me your pinky."

"Why?"

He grabbed her pinky with his and the pact was finalized.

"My father doesn't know I'm an underwear model. If he did, he'd skin me. He thinks showing off the body to anyone other than one's spouse is disgusting. Of course, he's the biggest hypocrite in the world. He showed it to many women, other than my mother. I know this because these women told me and showed me."

_OKAY. Too much information. I don't want to know you lost your virginity at nine with one of your father's mistresses._

"Anyways, I want you to watch my flat. I've been having strange women lounging about and I don't want to be robbed. Merlin knows what those mentally damaged females would do. I'll be on a photo shoot on some exotic unplotted island for a week. Just water my plants, get my mail... You know. That sort of thing."

"But you don't have plants."

"You're a smart woman, Granger."

* * *

And so Granger gathered Draco Malfoy's mail and watered his nonexistant plants for a week.

* * *

**TO BE CONTINUED**

* * *

Author's Note: ;D Review my lovelys!

Love,

Tinsadisaster


	2. His Undergarments 1

**The Love Connection**

_Tinsadisaster_

Summary: Series of quotes inspiring short stories, with little or no connection at all, about the one thing that breaks the bonds of society and the bonds of the heart. DMHG

* * *

**Love is a woman on the other side of the door waiting to hear his footsteps**

**Clark Gable **

* * *

Hermione Granger was possibly on the hit list of many jealous, demented witches living in the proximity of Dean Matherson's home.

Hermione Granger was given a key, by the model himself, and was allowed permission to enter the fortress of the demigod.

Hermione Granger hated it.

* * *

Hermione was having brunch with Ginny, who looked fabulous as always. Maybe it was a requirement. She _did _share a bed with one of the most important, obviously attractice wizards of all magical time. Hermione scowled, envious of her allure.

"So how's things with Harry?"

"Oh, you know. I have to chase him around with a comb to get that mop of hair on his head into shape. I swear it's cursed. His hair, I mean."

"Oh... Err... That's Harry for you..."

Ginny observed her friend. Of course, she knew Hermione was anal about everything and positively tense. She was possibly the oldest young person she knew. But there was something she wanted to tell her but couldn't, though it was at the tip of her tongue. Ginny knew how to pull the truth out of her.

"So... how's work? Life? Your boyfriend?"

"Work's fine... Actually not really. I haven't been writing lately. Something like a writer's block? Is that what it's called? I just can't concentrate anymore." Hermione chose to ignore Ginny's last question. She knew what Ginny was doing. She was trying to weasel some truth out of her. She fell victim to this many times before.

"Maybe you're just missing him. Read from a tabloid that he's off to some paradise, shooting some pictures scantily clad."

"Who?" Hermione couldn't believe tabloids knew his every move. She now understood why he caged himself in his flat. A flat who she had the key to.

"Oh don't play stupid, Granny. It's not becoming."

"I have no idea what you're going on about."

"Oh, I think you do. He's about yay high," Ginny said, holding her hand as high as possible. "Blue gray eyes. Mix of brown and dirty blonde hair. Amazing abdominals. Chiseled by the gods. Does this description ring a bell?"

Hermione harrumphed and gave up. Fighting with Ginny was absolutely pointless. She had the physical and mental experience in fights. Living with a bunch of men did this to her. Hermione lived with her parents, who were cautious about their daughter's unpredictable life. _Hermione Granger! Hide all these... books and that stick before the Waltons come over!_

"The woman across from you tells me you've been breaking and entering his home."

Hermione gasped._ Shiela! What a nosey neighbor. I'll have to pay her a visit._

"How'd you know Shiela?"

"She's just an old friend of mine. My mum's friends and I are very close. Shiela and my mum went to Hogwarts together. Anyways, stop trying to switch the subject. What's going on?"

"I'm just watering his plants."

"Gathering his mail. You know, babysitting his house?"

"Boxers or briefs?"

"Excuse me?"

Ginny sighed. "I'm asking you if he wears boxers or briefs."

"How should I know?"

"Well. You have a key to his flat, right? I think you're absolutely loony for not even looking through his stuff. He's a model for Merlin's sake. You have insight into the life of a model. Better yet, their home. Find out what kind of tea he drinks. Brand of socks he wears. His underwear. His bed sheets."

"But that's totally irrelevant..."

"Bollocks, Granny. He won't know. Just sneak a peek or two. It wouldn't kill you. Anyways, tell me what you find. I got to be leaving. I'm taking Harry shopping for new trainers. He'd dress like a bum if I didn't monitor him. See ya."

"But you have a boyfriend, Ginny. You shouldn't be.."

"Oh, It's not like I'm touching him. That's your job."

With that, Ginny walked away, her purse swinging and her high-heels clicking.

* * *

Hermione entered Draco's flat with a strange feeling at the pit of her stomach.

_You can do this, Hermione. He will never find out. You can do this. Just do it._

She tiptoed to his bedroom, the undiscovered holy grail of many female witches and some wizards.

She opened the door. _Why am I shaking?_

His room was bland. Superbly bland. Hermione was disappointed. She was half expecting a circus of freaks to jump her as she opened the door.

He owned a bed, a huge bed, which felt quite comfortable. Hermione felt the comforter, its silkiness causing goosebumps on her arm. She lay down and stared at his cieling, magicked to look like a night sky. He also owned a desk, neat and organized. She restrained herself from looking through the drawers. He had a closet.

"Merlin's balls."

Draco Malfoy was a fashionable man. He owned things she never even heard of. Of course, he owned the top brands from the magical world but was surprised when she found muggle brands mixed in with the clothes. He owned so many shoes. More shoes than her.

But where was his underwear?

* * *

Draco Malfoy was insanely tired. For a job that involved lying on the beach, looking sexy and being near naked, modeling was harder than most thought. His muscles were cramped, having been in the same poses for hours at times. He had trouble concentrating on one thing to keep him occupied during the shoot.

"So Dean, how do you think this'll look?"

Draco was confronted with the female model he worked with that afternoon. Her name was ... Well, he really didn't care. He worked with women just like her and knew how they thought. They were skinny yet toned, looked absolutely hot on pictures but their personalities lacked the special something that caught his attention.

"Fine."

"Do you want to have dinner tonight? There's a place my friend told me about on the island. They serve delicious shrimp plates."

"No thanks." _It's not like you'll eat anything, you stick. _

"Oh.. Okay."

Draco walked away, wanting to be with himself. He hoped the woman got the idea. He wasn't interested.

He was too busy worrying about his apartment. Not that he had anything to worry about. He knew Granger would do as he told. But she didn't have to.

_Maybe I should buy her a souveneir. _

Yes, he decided. He'd go to the market and find something unique for his unique little neighbor.

* * *

"He doesn't own underwear."

"You lie!"

"I swear. I couldn't find it at all."

"That's ironic, don't you think? An underwear model who doesn't own underwear?"

"Maybe he goes commando."

A string of silence elapsed.

"Now that's a thought."

"Eww!"

"What are you, twelve? Be mature. Some people like to have nothing in between themselves and their clothing. It's perfectly natural."

Hermione was hosting another Friday Night Affair. She told Ginny of her discoveries (or lack of) and she subsequentially told all the other girls. Now the girls were debating whether he was a commando guy or that their friend was a liar, secretly owning a pair of underwear that graced the wonderful bum of the smolderingly hot Dean Matherson.

"_Anyways,_ this week we'll be watching Sixteen Candles. Premiered in 1984, starring Molly Ringwald, Justin Henry, and Michael Schoeffling..."

"Didn't we watch that movie already? That name sounds familiar. The one about the club during breakfast?"

"No, idiot."

"Geez Lavendar. Just because that bloke blew you off and came on to me doesn't mean you should be bitter."

"Pansy, shut your face."

"I'm only kidding, Lav. He was gay. Wanted to know where I got my robes."

"Really?"

"Why are the best ones always gay?"

"Maybe because they're gay?"

And this was Hermione's cue to go to the kitchen and create some popcorn magic.

* * *

Draco Malfoy was walking the market streets of the island and was amazed by the culture.

He had already been offered nets that caught bad dreams, pins to stab into dolls, and some wooden sculptures of strange naked men wearing barrels. He jumped when the crazed vendor showed him what else the wooden man did. Hermione wouldn't want that.

He was looking for something special, unique, but pricey at the same time. Malfoys don't give cheap gifts. Even if they're disguising themselves under new identities.

He really didn't know why he was trying so hard for her anyways.

Maybe it was because she was the only person, other than himself, that knew of his true self. Maybe it was because he wanted to recompensate his actions towards her in Hogwarts through kind acts and naked wooden men. Maybe it was because she had feminine curves and skin as caressable as silk.

_Okay. Where'd that come from, Malfoy?_

He really needed to get laid.

* * *

"Leis?"

"It was either this or naked men."

"Well... Uh. Thank you Malfoy. For these leis."

"You don't like them? It's because they seem cheap, huh?"

"Cheap?"

"I knew I should have bought you those huge utensils to hang on your wall. It'd probably look good in your living room. Nice decor, by the way."

"Thanks."

"Yeah."

An awkward silence ensued. Hermione hated awkward silence.

"How are my plants doing?"

"Oh. They're great. Blooming, really."

Another one ensued.

"Right. I think I should leave... So thanks for watching my flat. Hope those women didn't scare you too much." He grinned and waved, walking out the door of her flat.

She watched him close the door and thought for a second. Should she say she'd been rifling through his belongings? She couldn't lie for turd. She knew he'd see something misplaced.

"Draco!"

He wasn't far. He was leaning against the wall parallel her door in deep thought. He looked incredibly sexy, she added.

"Yes?"

Hermione lost all train of thought. What was she supposed to say again?

"Boxers or briefs?" Hermione wanted to kick herself. Why'd those words come out of her mouth?

"Excuse me?"

"Do you wear boxers or briefs?"

"Why? Should I drop my pants and show you? Right here, in the hallway?"

"Erm. You could but you also could just tell me."

"I'm sorry, Ms. Granger. I don't think that's possible."

"Why not?"

"Have dinner with me tonight and only then will I answer your question."

"Or you could just tell me."

"Have you been thinking hard about my undergarments, Granger?"

"Oh shut up and just tell me."

"Okay. I will."

"So..."

"Tonight."

* * *

**TO BE CONTINUED . . .**

**

* * *

**

**Author's Note: **So does the underwear model wear boxers, briefs, or air? Will the writer and model hook up? Tune in, folks. 

Love and Chocolates,

_Tinsadisaster_


	3. And The Winner Is 1

**The Love Connection**

_Tinsadisaster_

Summary: Series of quotes inspiring short stories, with little or no connection at all, about the one thing that breaks the bonds of society and the bonds of the heart. DMHG

* * *

The most eloquent silence; that of two mouths meeting in a kiss.

* * *

Hermione Granger was in deep turmoil. 

She didn't have anything to wear to the dinner! She couldn't just walk in his flat naked...

_Well, I could. _

She thought perhaps it would be a bit forward. Also, there'd be an awful draft. She'd freeze her breasts off. The weather was terrible; the cold seeped through the cracks in the foundation of the building, cracks that were being ignored. She'd have to talk to Sheila about that too.

_But wouldn't it be awfully sexy?_

* * *

He had no idea why he proposed such a thing. Perhaps it was because he was yearning for some intellectual, physical human contact. Perhaps it was because he was sent off-guard by her question. Perhaps it was because he was turned on by her question. Perhaps he was just insanely horny and was hoping he'd have someone to touch that night. Other than himself, surely. 

No matter, the dinner was set and he'd have a female in his flat that night.

* * *

"Ginny, I have a major problem!" 

Hermione apparated to her best friend's flat, in hopes of finding some fashion fix.

Apparently, she came at the wrong time.

"Ginny, I – _OH_!" Hermione thought her eyes would fall out of her sockets. She definitely came at the wrong time. Her best friend and her … eherm … well-endowed fiancé were in the throes of deep passion.

"Oh Merlin, Hermione!" Harry exclaimed, untangling his limbs from his red-headed lover and hopping away from the scene. Hermione blushed, partly because she had the worst timing in the world and partly because Harry, male friend or not, had an extremely attractive arse, whether it was retreating or not.

_Ginny, you lucky witch._

"Geez Granny. Spoil the fun why don't you? It was getting real good too…" Ginny said, covering herself with a robe lying about. She fixed her hair while her brown-haired friend was relearning how to breathe.

"If I had known you two were… umm… I would've stop by later."

"Oh, get over it. I am. But I'm quite disappointed. For a second there I thought he was screaming out your name instead of mine. Now that would be a problem. Anyways, what's the matter?"

"I need some clothes for tonight."

"Holy Merlin, that's _all_ you wanted? And here I was, having a great time with my fiancé, who I haven't seen in like two weeks and you barge in asking for bloody clothes? I have a sudden urge to slap the spirits out of you, Granny." Ginny had her fists on her hips and resembled her mother at this point, which actually did scare the spirits out of Hermione.

"Well, I have a date."

Ginny immediately brightened up. "Oh really? With whom, if I'm allowed to ask? Can it be your lovely model neighbor? Or perhaps the delivery boy you were getting chatty with at last Friday's affair?"

"Carlos? He's almost half my age, you silly witch!"

"I hear they keep you younger. You know, with all their energy and whatnot. Anyways, it has to be Dean Matherson. Give me the information, woman. Location, time, etc?"

"Well, it'll be at his flat. This evening."

"Oh… so you'll be having sex, then?"

Hermione blushed, thinking _hopefully…_

"I know just the thing for you, my lucky friend!"

* * *

"So what do you think?" Draco said, holding up two different dress shirts. 

He was in his room, rummaging through his closet for an outfit that hopefully stated, "I really didn't try but doesn't this look bloody sexy on me?" Well, that's what Blaise called it.

"Why do you care, mate? Won't it be coming off anyways?" Blaise said nonchalantly, flipping through one of his friends' gentlemen's magazines. He was especially attracted to one particular page featuring one saucy little witch and a Firebolt. "Hey, doesn't this look like your special little friend next door?"

"Well, of course it'll be coming off. Well, hopefully. What are you looking at?" Draco walked over to his friend and looking over his shoulder. "Oh, you poof!"

"Lighten up, comrade," Blaise chuckled, flipping to the next page.

"No seriously. Do you think this looks good?" Draco laid the shirts against his chest, looking promisingly to his ebony skinned friend.

"I think that's fine. I honestly don't think she'll care. If you're lucky, she'll have it off in about a second. I remember that Hermione Granger girl. Very goody-two-shoes and practical. I bet you she was a tiger underneath all those oxford layers. You know what they say about the quiet ones…"

"Lay off the romance books. What have you reading lately you ponce?"

"Well, I'm only wishing you luck. You're the one on the date with her tonight. I'll be all by myself with my pint tonight."

"I didn't know you were a drunkard, Blaise."

"Ice cream, you bugger."

"Poofter."

* * *

"Don't you think it's a bit improper? I mean, my chest is positively falling out of the shirt!" Hermione, as conservative as she was, thought she looked like a straight hooker at this moment. 

"That's the point of it all, Granny." Ginny was adjusting the outfit and looking through her bureau for the right jewelry.

"Shouldn't I at least try to look a bit more classy?"

"Oh yeah, that's right. Wear your "Mom Jeans" and you'll totally woo the guy."

"They are not 'Mom Jeans!'" Hermione huffed, trying to cover her chest.

"Well, I just realized something."

"What, Ginny?"

"You're wearing that backwards…"

* * *

**That evening …**

Hermione stood outside Draco's door, arranging herself and trying to balance. She cursed Ginny for making her wear heels, which were slowly killing her feet.

She moved to knock on the door but it swung open voluntarily.

And before her stood Draco Malfoy, in all his glory. She wore she heard a chorus singing hopefully in the background.

"Hey Draco … WOW. What happen to your face?"

Draco cringed for a split second and Hermione knew she said the wrong thing.

"Here, let me let you in…"

* * *

"I called him a poofter and so he punched me before I had the chance to recover." Hermione softly sighed, holding a wash cloth in one hand, cleaning Draco's face. 

"Blaise knows about you?"

"Of course. He's been my confidant since Hogwarts."

"I thought the only people who knew about your identity was me and you?"

"Oh well, I had to tell Blaise. The little bugger did a background check on me. You wouldn't believe what he's got access to since he works for the Ministry now."

"Oh."

A silence passed between them.

"So do you like chicken?"

Hermione smiled, "I love chicken."

* * *

"I'm sorry. It's a bit on the rubber side… I haven't learned how to cook yet." 

"It's erm.. Okay." Hermione bit into her chicken but couldn't swallow it.

"I really wanted to cook you dinner and make it special and all. You could say I tried my best."

"That was very sweet of you."

"Well, I have dessert. Would you like some?"

"Dessert would be great."

* * *

"Oops, I'm sorry. Let me get a napkin for you." 

Draco had accidentally smeared some of the whipped cream on Hermione and was presently wiping it off the material of her shirt.

"You know, that's very sweet of you but I think I can manage on my …"

"Oh my." Hermione squealed, processing their current position in her head.

Maybe it was Draco's masculine mind but apparently Hermione's breasts were saying hello to him, seeing as his face was directly in front of them. And Draco suspected they were a bit excited.

"Oh my, indeed." He felt his blood rush somewhere … south.

Hermione was feeling a bit warm. Did Draco turn up the heater? She felt amazingly hot in that moment. What was it about having a beautiful man practically lying on top of you?

"Oh!"

What was it about a beautiful man cleaning up a sweet mess on your chest with his _tongue_? His talented tongue, by the feel of it…

"Sweet Merlin…"

They fell from their chairs, onto the floor.

* * *

Draco had her pinned against the wall. 

"You little vixen… No bra?"

Hermione giggled, saying, "Ginny – ahh … said it wasn't appropriate."

Draco attached himself to her neck while his hands roamed the body of his bubbly little friend. He sighed into her neck, saying, "I never thought I'd be in this position with you, Hermione."

"This might sound cheesy, Draco, but just please shut up and kiss me…"

"As you wish." Draco smirked, wrapping his arms around her lovely little bottom and carrying her to his bedroom, where he planned to do more than just kiss her.

* * *

"Where do you suppose she is, Ginny?" 

The groups of ladies, members of the Friday Night Affair, were huddled in front of Hermione Granger's door.

"Yeah. Dean wanted to take me out tonight too but I told him I had to come tonight…"

"Calm down, ladies," Ginny said. "I just remembered that Hermione told me she wouldn't be able to host the affair tonight. She had to go out of town for some journalist convention or something. So I think it's best that all you lot just go home to your husbands and have some fun."

"But I don't have a husband," a lady pointed out.

"Well, come with me. I'll get you dolled up and I'll take you to the nearest club and I promise you will not be lonely by the end of the night."

The ladies walked away, leaving Ginny in the hallway.

A door opened and Ginny jumped slightly.

"You go tell your hooligan friend there, Harmony, to quiet down. Some of us folks are trying to get some sleep."

Ginny smiled apologetically, saying, "I have no idea what you're talking about, Sheila."

"Your friend there. Just this evening was standing outside that lovely man's door. So improper; her breasts hanging all out and such. Such a terrible little witch. I swear…And now I'm trying to sleep and I hear her playing her rock and roll music or whatever that is. Simply nonsense and screaming. Why, in my day, we listened to…"

Ginny hugged the old lady and sent her walking through her door. Ginny shook her head, with a grin, and knocked on Dean Matherson's door.

A very enthusiastic, scantily clad Hermione Granger answered the door.

"Oh, Ginny!" Hermione blushed.

"Having a little fun there, Granny? You're absolutely breaking Carlos's heart, you know." Ginny grinned.

"And who is Carlos?" A similarly scantily clad Draco Malfoy appeared behind Hermione and hugged her from behind, his chin resting on her shoulder, curious of the visitor of the hour.

"Oh no one…" Hermione grinned, squealing slightly as he took advantage of her exposed neck.

"Okay… I'll leave you love birds behind now…" Ginny smiled and started walking away.

Draco pulled Hermione back and moved to push the door close so he could slam her into it and do wicked little things with her but his bushy-haired lover stopped him.

"What?"

"Hold on. I got to say something to her first…"

Hermione slinked her way through the door and screamed to the retreating Ginny, "Air!"

Hermione laughed and slinked back into her date's flat and closed the door.

* * *

Ginny, who was deliberately walking painfully slow, heard her friends' scream and laughed silently to herself. She had something quite juicy to tell her Friday Night Affair friends now. 

She apparated home, hoping her own lover was ready for a pleasurable Friday night.

* * *

Author's Notes: It is finished, my lovelies. Review. 

Sincerely,

_Tinsadisaster_


	4. That Kind of Movie Kiss You Die For 2

**The Love Connection**

**"_Something Different_"  
**

Tinsadisaster

Summary: Series of quotes inspiring short stories, with little or no connection at all, about the one thing that breaks the bonds of society and the bonds of the heart. DMHG

Disclaimer: PWNAGE by JKR.

* * *

I have a very strong feeling that the opposite of love is not hate – it's apathy.

It's not giving a damn.

- Leo Buscaglia

* * *

**In his eyes...**

I found her sitting by the lake, drowning in her own thoughts, tears threatening to fall down her porcelain-like face. She was mumbling a few sorrowful words, some of which were repeated – "stupid, stupid girl," "stick to your books," and "stupid, stupid boy."

I guess the rumors were true – the Weasel had broken off their 2-month fling. I wanted to smirk and sympathize with her, all at once. Weasel was never that bright, that much I know. She deserved better than the redheaded rat, anyways.

I could have turned around, stomped back to the Slytherin dorms, told the guys about the death of the Golden Trio, laughed maniacally, evilly with my classmates and gone about my way, searching for Pansy, in hopes I'd get up her blouse.

But I didn't. And it was all the difference in the world.

I crept up behind her, crouched beside her and looked at her.

I expected an explosion, a "WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE, MALFOY? GO AWAY," a "Come here to call me a Mudblood and top my day off, eh? Well go ahead. There's no way you can ruin my day – it's been ruined," or just a basic "Fuck off, Malfoy." I expected a reaction. But she was catatonic, blind to her surrounds, deaf to my footsteps in the sloppy, muddy lake sand, absolutely indifferent to the world. She did not care someone crept up behind her, had invaded her personal space, had endangered her moment of solitude.

And that scared me. Since when did Granger not react? Since when did she not fight back, fight against anything? Since when had Granger become so jaded, so disillusioned to the world?

"Would it help to say that you were the prettier one in the relationship?" I said, testing the waters, wondering how far I could go with my taunting before she would react, would give me something back.

Nothing. Not even a blink.

"Granger, have you ever heard the saying, 'There are many fishes in the sea'? Well, in this case, he's just a fish. There are more fishes out there. In fact, he's not even a fish – he's a guppy, a fish embryo, algae. Well, perhaps a guppy is a fish but – that's not what I'm trying to say. You're smart; you should know what I'm trying to say."

I glanced at the girl and she was giving me absolutely nothing, like a virgin prude on a first date.

"Weasel doesn't deserve this. I bet you, right now, he's off snogging some classless witch in the third floor broom closet. He's not missing you so why should you be grieving over him?"

I noticed those tears threatening to drop had followed through with her threat and I could see them falling slowly down the sides of her face. Oops. Perhaps I had been too honest?

"Shit," I muttered, looking away from the girl. Why was I even here, squatting next to the girl I had been calling a Mudblood ever since I met her? Why was I trying to console her? Why hadn't I walked away when I saw her in such a messy state?

"Lavendar," she whispered. My ears perked up at the name, my heart thudding unconventionally. I had taken her out of her catatonic state – had gotten something out of her.

I decided not to respond for I knew not what to say. I really didn't know how to deal with this situation – Granger with her defenses brought down, her raw self exposed, vulnerable and ready to be damaged and me, speaking softly, consoling a girl (Granger, of all girls) and actually caring.

"He's snogging Lavender Brown in the third floor broom closet. He's fucking Lavender Brown up against the desk. He's loving Lavender Brown," she said, with a puff of air in between each word – as if she couldn't breathe as she admitted this to me.

Once again, I was dumb-strucked. Had I just heard Granger say 'fuck'?

"He told me that he wanted more from me, from this relationship. He wanted to 'go to the next level.' I told him that it wasn't what I wanted, wasn't what I was ready for. So then he said, maybe this relationship wasn't what he wanted, what he wasn't ready for. Then he walked away."

"Oh," I replied, lamely.

"He was just a stupid boy. Why am I crying a river over him, Malfoy? Why am I such a mess over this stupid relationship?" She looked at me, then, with her big, tear-filled eyes, sadness clinging onto every inch of her face. She did look like such a mess.

"Because you're a girl," I said. What? It was true and I had nothing else to say.

She nodded off, tearing her eyes away from me, searching for some sort of answer in that horizon just beyond the lake's surface. The daylight was dropping down and I could hear the night creatures crawl out of their homes, ready to make their appearances.

"Can I tell you something, Malfoy?"

"Sure."

"I just wanted to be loved, if only for a moment."

"Granger, you're not alone on that one."

Silence.

"I'm tired of being lonely. I have my books and nothing else. My books can only give me facts, not answers, not companionship."

"Don't be silly, Granger. You've got your friends. You've got Pothead – I mean, Potter."

She smiled sadly then, a smile that promised a story worth a thousand galleons. She shook her head slightly.

Silence. The crickets were beginning to sing.

"Malfoy, can you do me a favor?"

"Sure."

"Kiss me."

I was taken back. Of all the things I expected Granger to ask of me in this lifetime – never saw this one coming.

"Why?"

She looked at me. She focused those big, brown eyes on my own and they pleaded for appeasement on my part. She didn't have to say a word, I could see the desperation in her eyes.

"Okay," I barely whispered. My hand raised to her face, dropped to her chin. I could feel her shudder, could see those big, brown eyes widen, could see the smile lingering about the corners of her mouth. She closed her eyes and I smiled, slightly.

Granger, always by the book.

I mustered up all my confidence and swooped in for her lips, colliding and waiting. I felt the cold, soft feel of her lips against mine and thoughts zoomed past each other in my head, like a tornado was running wild within my mind.

_What are you doing? _

_ What in the hell do you think you are doing?_

_ Why are you still here?_

_ Why are you still with her?_

_ Why are you kissing her?_

_ You hate her!_

_ Don't you?_

_ Yes you do!_

_You certainly don't love her._

_ What if Potter comes along any second?_

_ You should pull away now._

_ Now. _

_Now!_

_NOW!_

_This is a big, big mistake._

_ Stop it. Stop it. Stop kissing her._

_ Don't slip her tongue._

_ Don't. _

_ Damn!_

_She's a Mudblood!_

_ This is bad!_

_What will your father think?_

_ What if someone sees you?  
_

_ What if a professor sees you?_

_ What if Snape sees you?_

_What if Weasel sees you? _

She didn't pull away.

I didn't either.

And it made all the difference in the world.

* * *

Part 1?

That's all for now, folks!

**Hearts**,

TINSADISASTER


	5. Obsessions: Strange & One Sided 3

**The Love Connection 5**

_Obsession: Strange, Confused and One-Sided_

Tinsadisaster

Summary: Series of quotes inspiring short stories, with little or no connection at all, about the one thing that breaks the bonds of society and the bonds of the heart. DMHG

Disclaimer: Owned by JKR only. Oh shet.

**Author's Note**: Umm… This chapter may be deleted in the future, for it is strange and weird and even I am at a loss at what it all could mean. Err… I hope you can decipher it because I'll be thinking of this one for many a night, wondering what in the hell my mind was typing down. Err… Enjoy? Review, too!

* * *

**Obsessions of the Orient, of the desert, of its ardor and its emptiness, of the shadows of palm gardens, of the garments white and wide - obsessions where the senses go berserk, where nerves are exasperated, and which made me, at the onset of each night, believe sleep impossible.**

_Tell a Friend-André Gide, Feuilles de route_

* * *

A little girl sits in a crowd of children at a silly birthday party, watching a silly old man trying to be a magician, pull a rabbit out of a tall, black hat, knowing the magic trick was a fake. She hears the amazed comments floating around her and she rolls her eyes. A clown, surrounded by even more children, in a corner, blows air into plastic balloons, and then twists and contorts them into plastic doggies, plastic swords and plastic crowns. The children giggle in glee as they grab the goodies and flee, to role play as gladiators, princesses in distress and sad little huskies in the local pound. The little girl wonders why she even came to the birthday party; she could have done something much more fulfilling, like read about how weather was being scientifically controlled in Tibet. She wants to leave but knows she cannot – her parents are talking with their friends and will not let her leave for at least half an hour more. She had no friends among the party guests so talking to someone was out of the question. She did not bring her books so she could not retreat into the world of knowledge and paragraphs. She felt quite bored. And for the umpteenth time in her still relatively short life, she felt like she just didn't belong.

000

In another world, in that same moment the little girl was pondering her niche in the universe, a little boy was watching a ball from behind armored knights, taking in all his pale eyes could process. Women in sparkly, posh dresses and men in crisp, fashionable dress gowns. Alcohol poured into the best china, being passed out by finely dressed servants, being sipped by the terribly luxurious men and women. Music literally floating above the guests, an orchestra of ghosts playing their dead hearts away. Laughter, smiles, and gloating all around the ballroom, mixing and transforming itself into a strange buzzing sound in the little boy's ears. The buzzing sound, hovering above the little boy, surrounding him, annoying him. He sees a charming young man, wooing four lovely women in his circumference, making them laugh and half fall in love with him. He whispers to himself, _"Why can't I be you?"_

_000 _

A bushy-haired, bucktooth girl walks onto the train platform, pushing her heavy cart along, looking around for a familiar face, though she knows nothing in this world she has entered is familiar. Her mother and father are not with her for they feared what existed on the other side of the wall. This was Platform 9 ¾, a symbolic portal to the magical world. This was not an ordinary train station, not an ordinary world, and she was not an ordinary girl. For the first time, the bushy-haired, bucktooth girl feels she belongs, be it an unordinary world or not. However, the feeling is short-lived as someone crashes their cart into her shins. Pain shoots up and down her legs as the hit-and-run cart driver makes their getaway, not bothering to say sorry or anything at all. "Bastard," the girl says immediately, and then she blushes, for in this new world, she says her first cuss word.

000

The blond-haired, smirking boy barges into a compartment, hoping to find the bushy-haired girl he had injured in his rush to get on board the train. He asks the inhabitants of the room if they saw a girl that resembled a beaver with poofy hair come by and the students say he had just missed her. He frowns at their answer and leaves in a flurry of cloak and air, a trick he had learned from his godfather. He finds himself wandering for a while but then, suddenly, he sees brown at the corner of his eyes and chases after the girl.

000

The girl sees a flash of blonde as she glances behind her and realizes the blond-haired bloke is still following her. Feeling a bit paranoid, she barges into a random compartment and finds two young boys, who seemed to be getting along. One was redheaded and seemed quite dazed and confused while the other had raven black hair, black rimmed glasses (broken, too), and the strangest scar on his forehead. She says some rubbish about a lost toad and settles herself in, hoping the blonde lost her trail. She talks with the boys, scolds and lectures them and pretends she can't see the rolling eyes and the pursed lips. She can tell the boys don't want her around but she stays anyways, knowing that the longer she remains, the longer the blonde would be lost and the better she'd be off when she left the compartment. But she doesn't leave. She has made two new friends, sort of. As she talks with the boys, she forgets about the strange blonde but the strange blonde does not forget about her.

000

He felt quite strange. He had just finished mocking the bushy-haired girl and her two new friends but something was bothering him. The two numbskulls he found, their names were Hermit and Gargoyle or something like that, suggested that he was hungry. He rolls his eyes and moves along.

000

She is settling in her new world, adjusting to the mannerisms and schedules, and actually making friends. She knows now that the world she left behind was the world where she really didn't belong – she felt it in her bones when she was nine and stuck at a terrible birthday party for some kid in her class that barely knew she existed. She is actually happy but she knew something terrible was coming her way. It was another feeling she had in her bones – a bad, horrible feeling.

000

He learns something about his little obsession. He learns many things about her. He learns that she is a muggle-born, that she is absolutely arrogant, that she is a know-it-all, that teachers loved her while students abhorred her, that the girls thought she was alien-looking and that the guys preferred Lavender Brown over her. But most importantly, he learns that he must stop learning about her – she was listed under things he cannot befriend, cannot gain access to, cannot indulge in, cannot interact with. She is a Mudblood and that is all she should be, in his mind. But he is just a eleven, twelve year old boy; he does not have that strong of a willpower. He keeps learning more, enough to fill up a whole piece of parchment and then some. He learns something else – obsessions never really go away.

000

She learns of prejudice and heartache, all within the same day. She hears the word "Mudblood" come from all directions, randomly, whispered, and she does not know what it means. She hears "go home," "you don't belong here," and "filthy." She receives mail hateful enough to make her sob. Hoping to ask Harry and Ron, her friends, about the word of the day, she overhears them talking about her with their friends. Ron says something quite terrible and she feels anger boil in her blood. The boys laugh and that is all she can endure – she shoves past them, immediately ending their ridiculing, but she realizes she is crying. She thinks she hears Harry say something nice but all she can think about is where the nearest bathroom stall is, so she could just hide and cry to herself.

000

He sees her rush into a girls' bathroom. His keen eyes see a flash of trails of tears and he can see that something has bothered her. Was it strange to feel anger it wasn't his taunting that offset her emotions? That at least if he had angered her, she might've been safeguarded because he really held no hate for her, so the taunting would be worthless and a waste of time, yet absolutely necessary at the same time, for his reputation and her safety. That he could later tell her that he really didn't mean it, so she wouldn't have to feel hurt? Yes, he decided, it was quite strange. And it was quite strange that he also wanted to punch the bloke who did that to her, if it was a bloke. If it was a girl, he would have only glared at her threateningly, hoping the glare would send a message of discouragement, because his mother taught him better than hurting women physically.

000

She forgives them, because they saved her from a nasty troll. She knows they are truly sorry and forges, with them, a friendship that would be of legendary status. Her rapidity of redemption upsets yet encourages him, because now he knows he can easily gain her respects but idiots could as well. The students at his table sense where his eyes are glancing and he swears; he must re-establish his reputation and he needed her to do the job.

000

He bribes his father into bribing him into the Slytherin Quidditch team. He promises he will beat Harry Potter in exchange for expensive brooms that'll gain him access into the team. He presents the brooms, which are readily accepted, and replaces a nameless, unimportant boy as the Slytherin Seeker. Part one of his mission to fortify his reputation was complete.

Heading towards the Pitch for practice, phase two of his mission initiated itself. Gryffindor was scheduled to use the area but Slytherin weaseled a written excuse from their Headmaster. Seeing that Hermione was among the Gryffindors, he nudged one of the players to introduce him.

"This is Malfoy, our new Seeker." He smirks, simple yet signature. She says something quite true about buying himself into the team and he is a little bit angry. Her words are supported by the brave front of the Gryffindor Quidditch team and he knows he must say the words and forever hold his peace.

He doesn't know exactly what he says but it ended with a scalding, hurtful, emphasized "Mudblood!" This one decision set off a chain of reactions, involving slugs, tears threatening to fall, and pain. And his mission was complete because now, she completely hated his guts, or just really disliked him. His teammates were sure he was an evil little bastard, and rumors would be spread, fortifying his cold, bastardly reputation at the school, protecting himself and Hermione.

000

He now leaves her alone, giving her time to recover from the blow. But as he thinks about his godly fool-proof plan, he realizes he's made mistakes from decisions that could not be unmade. In his efforts to set his reputation in stone, he positively destroyed nearly all chances for redemption in her view, which meant she would never talk to him, which meant he'd never interact with her, which meant that he'd be forced into stalking her and observing her from afar, which meant that he would be more compelled to explore this certain obsession, which meant his life was getting more complicated by the second, which meant trouble for him. As he ponders about his stupidity, he realizes the strange feeling that he had felt after mocking Hermione, Ron, and Harry that day on the train was coming back to him, was getting a name now, was getting identified. He also remembers the time when he was nine and spying on guests at one of his parent's balls. He remembers feeling secluded, feeling like he wanted to be a part of that world, that he was so close yet so far from fulfillment. The strange feeling, that laid in the pit of his stomach and his soul, wherever it was located in his body, was making him sick.

And he spends the rest of his year, feeling jealous of Harry and Ron's companionship with Hermione, feeling like he was nine again, talking to her like he was nine again, insulting her, making her feel bad, bothering her, doing things that distanced himself from her. And he spends the rest of his year, being more obsessed and obsessed and obsessed by the day.

And he realizes his role is set in stone. He is the wizard that wishes he could be Harry Potter, that wishes he could be one of the goods guys (the ones Hermione was destined to fall for), that he wishes he could reach redemption with her and the rest of the world, and that wishes he could change but knows that it wasn't his destiny to change. But he was just the bad wizard, the one of bad faith, the one that loved the heroine of the morality (Hermione) from afar, the one that was promised a gruesome, lonely end, the one that never belonged in the world. He was the wizard that never was.

And in a night, he accepts his fate, blinded by society, blinded by an inappropriate obsession bordering on love, blinded by weakness, by the lack of courage to fight what the powers that be planned for him.

And all he could say was, "Shit."


	6. Love & Obsession: Self Explanatory 3

**The Love Connection 6**

_Love and Obsession: Self-Explanatory_

Tinsadisaster

Summary: Series of quotes inspiring short stories, with little or no connection at all, about the one thing that breaks the bonds of society and the bonds of the heart. DMHG

Disclaimer: JKR owns all characters used in this chapter. I own their actions though. Try and steal that!

**Author's Note**: Merry Christmas! Sorry for the year (le gasp!) delay.

* * *

_If you love somebody, let them go, for if they return, they were always yours. And if they don't, they never were.  
_

Kahlil Gibran

* * *

He can pin point the moment in his life where all things plunged towards disaster. 

Was it when he called her a Mudblood, the time he attacked a downtrodden Harry Potter on the train, the moment he ran from murder?

Yes, he remembered the night he almost killed Dumbledore. It bothered him. The old wizard told him he could not do it, an insult that should have fueled him to point and curse. It was just a word, just a word.

The power behind it. The fear it instilled in others. The cowardice it bestowed. The absolute hatred it sucked from the soul.

He remembered running, running at the speed of a bullet. Snape told him to run, to run away. His heart palpitated like the beat of stormy raindrops falling on the ground, repeatedly, harshly, and with fervor. His calves burned and sweat drizzled his skin. He could taste the blood and terror around him as he planned to run out the castle and into the dark, dreary forest. He turned a corner.

"Stop."

A wand jabbed itself into his chest. He rushed to grab his, hoping he had not dropped it or left it behind.

Warm, concerned brown eyes stared up into his.

His momentum drops, his heart beating at an all-time high. He felt he was on the verge of cardiac arrest. He collapses onto her, grasping her shoulders for support. She gasps, held down with the weight.

"I'm sorry for everything I have ever done wrong. I'm sorry I've been so weak," he whispered into her ear. His lips grazed her temple, leaving butterfly kisses towards her lips.

A force pulls him from her arms, dragging him forward and towards the castle exit.

He looks back at her amazed form and disappears into thin air.

He will never forget those eyes.

000

He goes into hiding. Caves, back rooms, and streets become his home.

Today, they hide in an abandoned building, burned down by an accidental fire. Snape tells him to be careful and leaves him.

Draco does not know how long he will be gone this time. Days, weeks, months. Time holds absolute power over runaways. Minutes rule their lives, seconds chase after them.

It has been years since that faithful night. The war was over; the good had defeated the bad. However, the in-betweens are still on the run. He is an in-between, an indecisive character in the plot of war. As far as he is concerned, he does not exist. He is an old note, hiding between the pages of a book long forgotten on a shelf. He is a dead flower, saved for remembrance but ironically forgotten.

He sits down on a charred mattress and lays his weary bones onto years of dust and decay. He feels drowsy and allows himself a few moments of rest.

He dreams of brown eyes, of hair, of luscious lips. He chases after this elusive creature, grabbing for her hand but she slips away, giggling and looking over her shoulder.

A hand shakes him to consciousness.

"Malfoy."

His vision comes back and he sees raven hair, black-rimmed glasses and piercing green eyes. He becomes alarmed, stands to jump and run but he is stopped by a redheaded, frumpy-looking Ron Weasley.

"We've got you now."

000

They do not send him to Azkaban, as he guessed they would. Instead, they send him to a strange little cottage, surrounded by dark, menacing trees and maximum magical security.

He is stripped of his wand, his pride. He no longer is a wizard. He is an animal, caged and climbing the walls of insanity.

He stares out the window a lot and sees a pathway with a light at the farthest distance.

He paces back and forth, in this room, thinking.

He must get out, must escape.

The door jars open and his eyes follow the sound. Soft footsteps tell him it is neither Potter nor Weasley. It is a stranger. She closes the door and enters his abode.

"Hello," she says. His heart leaps at the sound of her voice, though his feet are locked to the ground. His body tenses and feels awkward.

"I've brought you food."

He stares at her and does not make a sound. How can he, when his heart is making enough of it?

"And company."

He sits on the lumpy excuse of a mattress he uses as a bed.

"Okay," he says.

"Okay," she replies.

He surrenders everything to her.

000

She becomes a regular visitor, the doting wife visiting the husband in prison. She brings nourishment and warmth, both waning when she is gone.

A bond grows between the two, a friendship of sorts. There is no one to impress, to persuade. In this naked environment, he sets himself free.

She likes this Draco. Natural and honest and comfortable.

Once, she lets herself slip while knitting a torn shirt of his. He lies on his mattress, reading a book that she brought to him. She sets her work down and stares at his dirty form. Her mind rushes to a specific night, a night forever fused in her memories. He had told her these words, had left his kisses searing on her skin and had disappeared. Why?

"Draco," she says softly.

He looks away from his book and stares up at her.

"I just wanted to know why… I mean, erm…" she stammers.

"Yes?" he asks her.

There is a long silence, in which she tries to form a coherent question. How could she say what she wanted to say, without sounding inane? In this time, his interest is caught.

"Remember that night. A long time ago, it seems. You were running away." She stops, deciding she can't go further. "You know what? Just never mind."

He catches her drift and says, "I remember."

"Why?" She steps towards him, wringing her hands.

"What I said, what I did?" He sets the book on the mattress and stands.

"Yes."

He chuckles and says, after a while, "Let's just say I had a thing for you."

She's surprised to hear this, he can tell. "Why?"

He is not trying to hide it. He says, "I was obsessed."

"With me?"

"Yes, you. Is it so hard to imagine?"

"But you hated me."

"I was confused. It was complicated. I-I liked you."

"Oh." She looks at him, a weird, foreign expression in her eyes. Something he has never seen before.

Recollection. Recognition. Realization.

000

He waits for her, for her visiting days. He thinks of topics of conversation, of questions, of anything. He tries to clean his dwelling for her, impress her with his still civilized manners. He wonders if she notices.

000

Her visits come less frequent as the months pass by. He is still given food and drink but sometimes it just appears when he wakes up. On these days, he is disappointed.

000

She finally shows up one day. She seems anxious as soon as she steps into the cottage. She drops brown bags of food onto his makeshift table and moves towards the door. He stops her, grabbing her arm, and asks for an explanation for her strange behavior.

"Nothing is wrong, Draco," she says, lying through her teeth.

"Be honest with me, Hermione! You are the only person I can communicate with, and I need to you be honest. Please," he begs her.

She closes her eyes and bites her lip, shaking with emotion. He walks over to her and wraps his arm around her quivering shoulders. This contact is shocking, different.

She lets herself go.

"Have you ever wished you had the chance to change a decision you made?" she says into his shoulder. He says he has and wraps his other arm around her, fully embracing her now.

"Every second of my life."

She nods, the tears appear and she opens and closes her mouth, wondering how she will let the words come out.

"He left me today," she says in a minute voice, the voice of a defeated, weary soul. She is furious and tears run down her cheeks.

"Who?"

"Ron."

He is alarmed, wondering why she never brought his name up. He never saw a ring on her finger. Perhaps in his delusion, he never saw that reality.

"You and he…?"

"Yes."

"And now you're…"

"He said he had enough of me. That he was tired of me."

She holds on to him for dear life.

"He ran away with his whore. He said that he wanted out."

"Okay, come here." He guides her towards his mattress, pushes her down to sit. He drops and kneels on the ground before her. His hands wipe away her mascara tears and her eyes scan his face.

"He was tired of you," she says enigmatically.

"Of me?"

"Yes, you. He said I had a reason for coming here so often. He said I was sneaking around with you."

"Why?"

"I was never around when he was home. I was always here, with you."

"Oh. Why would that matter to him?"

"Because…"

"Tell me," he whispers.

"I had thing for you," she mirrors his words. "A thing that would not go away."

A movement, a touch, a unification of souls.

Happiness.

000

"You can go now," Ron says roughly, gesticulating towards the door.

Draco shuffles his feet, his hands crawling towards the light.

The sunlight hits him awkwardly, his eyes burn and he retracts towards the dark cottage, like a vampire in the day.

Free.

"Just like that?" he asks the redheaded wizard, who looks older, heavier, sadder.

"Look, Malfoy, don't make this harder for both of us. Just leave. Go, you're bloody free."

Hostility.

They walk up the pathway, Ron leading him through the woods. Draco revels in the nature around him, hearing every creature slide away from their footsteps, the sounds of birds, the flutter of wings.

An old candy wrapper lies on the green ground, a fish out of water, a symbol of civilization surviving in absolute nature. It is a portkey.

"I just want to say something, Malfoy, before you're gone from this place."

"Yes."

"You – You better not hurt her. I will strangle you with my bloody hands if you ever, ever cause her pain. Understand that?"

"Yes."

"She's something special. She would not have me. She would not even think of me. When we were together, she was never really there. She only had one person in mind and it was not me. It never fell into place in my mind, why she would pick you of all people, but she did."

"I understand."

"Good. Now let's go. I'm starving."

In silence, there is a wordless agreement, an unbreakable vow, a promise. A relinquishment of effort, a letter of surrender, and yet no blood has been dropped. In silence, there is acceptance and relief.

The silent calm without the storm.

000

A touch, a whirling stomach ache, a collapse, a transformation, a translocation.

A hand offers him help from the ground. Soft, womanly, and warm.

"Welcome back, Draco," she says.

"Hello, Hermione," he says.

Lifted, raised, and alive.

Obsessed to the depths of his soul, obsessed to the point of no return, obsessed to obsession's best friend, love, but obsession collides with obsession.

Passion infinite, longing endured and yet love exists forevermore.


	7. Our Little Secrets 4

**The Love Connection**

_Tinsadisaster_

**Summary: **Series of quotes inspiring short stories, with little or no connection at all, about the one thing that breaks the bonds of society and the bonds of the heart. DMHG

**Disclaimer: **I give full credits of the characters to JKR, and the Police for the lyrics, but the cynical Hermione and intrigued Draco belong to me. Hah, I think?

**Author's Note (READ ME!):**

Hey guys! I know I should be run over by a bike for abandoning the ship that I started with, but I've decided to do a better job of keeping up with updates on ALL my fanfics. I'm trying very hard to change my ways, to stay interested and focused on my stories, and to make it a goal to see a COMPLETE in every single summary of all my work on fanfiction, if they aren't one-shots, of course.

_Very important! Please Read Below!_

There might be confusion about how this fanfiction actually works. It's actually one whole collection of individual stories basically involving all topics of love, applied to Draco and Hermione's fandom relationship. Some stories are only one chapter, but some can go on to be even 3+ chapters long. This will be indicated by a number after the title of the chapter. So each chapter is a story (one-shot) or a part of a story (indicated by number following title!); but some stories can be multi-chapters, and this fanfiction, under the name "The Love Connection" is just an anthology of many different fanfictions but conveniently uploaded under one title. I find this is much easier and more organized than having a whole bunch of stories in my stories list. Besides, this gives me opportunities to end stories quickly if I lost interest in them, without leaving them hanging like I usually do. This explanation is probably a few years late. Sorry!

So here I go.

This is the first chapter of a new story (please read previous important paragraph if you don't understand this!), which will be multi-chaptered as I originally planned. It's a bit out there so some of you might not like it, but oh well. Tough luck.

I hope I haven't lost too many of you readers, and if I did, I hope I can gain new ones. Read, enjoy, and most importantly REVIEW! Reviews keep me motivated to keep writing and updating at a quicker rate, which means a happier you! (Yeah, I can't believe how cocky I am sometimes...)

* * *

A year has passed since I wrote my note

But I should have known this right from the start

Only hope can keep me together

Love can mend your life

But love can break your heart

**Police -- Message in a Bottle**

* * *

Those romantic movies are deceiving, because in each and every story, the ending is always the same. Despite all the obstacles, the trials and tribulations, and every drop of blood or bodily fluid sacrificed in that shining goal of attaining this thing, this lie we call "love", this cruel scheme we have been manipulated into believing, the protagonist and their love interest are finally reunited, kiss, and live happily ever after.

But what happens when the screen finally fades to black? When the powerhouse song of the soundtrack finally starts blaring and then eventually also fades away and is forgotten? When the names of the actors have been listed and then it's all over? When it stops being important anymore?

I have learned from a first-hand experience that in most cases, happily ever after rarely happens, and if it does, it's not in that blockbuster style. What if Cinderella realized that Prince Charming was just another chump in fashionable clothing? What if Snow White was stuck forever in a unconscious yet awake limbo, because her prince wasn't observant enough to realize what was going on? What if everything we have been taught was a definition of true love was a sick joke, a disgusting imitation of the real thing?

Because love is not confined to a cookie cutter mold. Love can't be illustrated as a man and a woman holding hands, kissing, and walking into the sunset.

For some people, there are no sunsets. There is no chance for kissing or holding hands in public. Sometimes, all we have are our words, and somehow, we survive by them.

My name is Hermione Granger, and I am one of those people.

* * *

I used to watch couples at Hogwarts, briefly drawing my eyes towards joined hands, a boy's grasps on their girl's waist, and the secret smiles that played in their amusing staring contests. I used to watch and wonder, if I were in that situation, would I be that way too?

When the thoughts and worries of schoolwork had died down, and I was a few minutes from slumber, on those long nights, my mind wandered to this thing I couldn't understand. It wasn't an arithmetic equation; it could not be understood by applying a law or equation to it. It wasn't a potions experiment; no matter how many times you changed the ingredients or directions around, it wouldn't turn the right color, so to speak. It wasn't found in the rotten books in the library. Because of all of this, I had no hope of conducting good enough research to reach a hypothesis.

So I decided to try it for myself. I willed myself to fall in love. I tried to be vulnerable, to look daintily at the boys around me. Harry was off in his own world, shitting his pants whenever he saw Cho or Ginny or whoever was dominating his over-filled mind, so he wasn't responsive to my sudden change of behavior. Ron was in a permanently confused state, somewhere between not believing that he truly cared for me and believing he did but still choosing to snog other girls while he thought I wasn't looking, so he was always either very angry at me and then attempting to squelch his anger with a round of heavy snogging and petting with some girl, or very attentive, foolishly trying to get my attention but failing horribly because things didn't spark between us anymore. He saw fireworks, I saw dead matches and debris.

A few Gryffindor boys were dazzled by me, that much I knew, but my intelligence scared them; they preferred a witch who'd rather smile and giggle than one who could really argue with them and beat them down to a pulp with only her words. Whoever said intelligence was sexy was so wrong. Intelligence made boys want to run the other way, like a howler revealing a late period and possible early fatherhood. I would never resort to dating a Hufflepuff; their kind was much too "nice" for me. I wouldn't want to destroy their purity with my cynical mind. I tried to start something with one or two Ravenclaw boys but they were far too focused on their academics, and I felt like I was dating the cover of a textbook, because that was what I always saw when I was around them, for library dates and such. And heaven knows I wouldn't even strike a conversation with a Slytherin. To put it simply, I was just the wrong type of girl for any of those prejudiced cream of the crop. A mudblood consorting with those pricks was a dead one.

So I was stuck with myself, alone with my horrible thoughts, and walked around, adding the worries of this feeling that I should have felt by now to my atlas-sized book bag of things going in my life that needed my attention.

Some nights my head was so full of thoughts that I thought I could have exploded, so I decided to write them down on a piece of parchment. It helped me to find some sort of level to sleep, but I always woke up, bothered for reasons that were purely non-sexual. However, I also always feared that someone would find my words, read them, and then spread the rumor around that that smarty Granger was being a scarlet with all the colors of the rainbow, or rather all the houses at Hogwarts, and I was still a teenage girl under all that labels that could apply to me, so it mattered to me. I'd rather that my peers did not see me as a slag, thank you very much.

The best idea came to me when I was nearly falling asleep in a history class. Just like that song that used to play on that radio station that my father loved listening to, I would put my message in a bottle and throw it out to sea, and hopefully no one would find it. However, I couldn't even pinpoint where Hogwarts was on a map, had there been such a map, so throwing it out to sea was a no-go. But being quick and having a dash of skill for improvising, I concluded that the lake would be good enough. Then it was decided; I would write down what was torturing my mind and I would enclose it in a bottle and throw it away, kind of like that tradition I've heard East Asian cultures do -- burning up messages so they stop bothering you.

What I didn't expect was that every time I threw that message away, the waters would bring them back to shore when I was already back to my dorms and getting ready for bed. The sea creatures in the murky waters were sort of like guards of the depths, so having litter thrown in their environment really irked their peace; they did what they probably thought was best: shove that litter back to where it came from, the shore.

When I'd come back to the lake, I would never see those bottles stuck in the muddy areas of the lake shore, so I assumed they were long gone. I always breathed a sigh of relief, knowing my worries were floating somewhere far away, never to be found out by another soul, or at least someone who knew me. I was the brainy counterpart of the Golden Trio; brains did not entail emotion, and sometimes I felt that I had to be just as tough as Harry and Ron to really be accepted by the people we saw everyday.

I almost never signed my name on those pieces of parchment, but I always made some sort of symbol, a mark that would identify that I created this but imply that I didn't want others to know. Sometimes it would be a phrase that I caught in the hallways that wouldn't leave me alone, or maybe a few lines of lyrics of music that I came by, or even simply, crudely, I wrote "Mudblood." I made mistakes sometimes, writing when I was near delirious with exhaustion, so my hand would automatically sign my name and I'd forget by the time it was my hour of absolution.

Mudblood. It was a word that used to hurt me, but now I live by it. Why try fighting against everything, when at the end of the day, I will always be that one Mudblood? Besides, it was what set me apart from most students, and I like to think that uniqueness was an important quality that I thought was necessary in every person, especially myself.

Anyways, like I said, I never meant for my secrets to be found, but they were found, and by the most unlikely person. Unfortunately for me, someone else liked to come out later than I did, to that lake shore. I supposed the waters calmed his nerves or maybe he just was a natural nocturnal brooder, because he intercepted my notes, every single one of them, and I didn't know for quite the longest time.

I really thought I had my own little mystery, but my walls of security went crashing down on my head when I received that letter in the mail one fae\tbright morning.

_**Mudblood**,_

_I knew you were a brain, but I never guessed that you were a nut case as well._

_I've read your notes, your sorry little messages in those bloody bottles. Where the hell do you get these bottles from anyway? Are you some sort of bottle collector? It would be so you, to have such a pathetic hobby such as that. _

_Okay, that was besides my point. Right. Anyways..._

_I' m pretty sure that no one else knows about this, and I would be lying if I wrote that I didn't care. Because I do care, and not for the reasons you're probably coming up with, with that frighteningly powerful mind of yours. No, I'm not in love with you. Not yet, anyways. Don't get any ideas, Mudblood._

_I'm writing back because I am, to put it simply, intrigued. Who knew that the female of the bloody precious Golden Trio had such a dark, cynical mind? It was surprising the first time I found your note, and you slipped up and signed it with your real name. Good job, mystery author. And I don't think I should feel this way, but I still am surprised, which scares me a little, but still stimulates something in me. You're a brain, girl, but you're one of the very select few who could come up with this material, especially at this place people call a school. _

_Don't fret, bushy hair. I'm not going to reveal to the school that you're a closet mental deviant. The whole student body probably guessed it by now, by the time you spend in the library. I swear, if I didn't know that you were bound to your schoolwork so intensely, I'd think you were meeting some bloke there, only to ravish him in the dirty, dusty crevices of that sad museum of books. And I'd know if you are, because you basically pour your heart onto the pages that you throw out to the lake. _

_By the way, the merpeople would really like it if you would stop throwing your "trash" into their living space. I was sitting by the lake, very late at night when you were probably tucked in your bed sleeping, and I was confronted by a speaking lake creature. It scared the shit out of me, and I'd like it if you would follow its demands and stop as well. A person can only stand so much lecturing from a slimey, fishy-smelling, scaley monster from the deep. _

_I see that I'm reaching towards the end of my parchment, and that I've written all this bollocks and I still haven't spit out what I intended to say so precisely when I started writing this letter. Okay. _

_You might have stopped reading this after the first sentence, and I honestly think you really might have, but then again you're a girl who likes to be surprised with knowledge not acquired before, so here I go. I want to read your messages, Granger. But I would rather not have to dig up a filthy tube in the mud of the lake to do so. (May I say that it seems quite appropriate? No, forget I wrote that.)_

_I can't believe I'm asking you of this, but I would like you to send your messages to me. I'm sure you're curious to who I am, but if you haven't recognized by certain key words and phrases and by my obvious handwriting, then I seriously hope you haven't passed out already from reading this obscenely long note to have read the initials that are written at the end of this. Don't question why I want this; I have no idea why either, but I know that it feels right to me. Consider me the pages of your dirty diary. _

_Please consider my request. You might be surprised by what can become of this._

_**D.M**_

* * *

Oh, how right he was. It breaks my heart to this day, to know how right he was.

It's been years since I first read that letter. I scavenged through many boxes in my flat to find that little memento of what could have been the closest thing I can compare to "love", that little bastard of an idea that has half our world fighting and dying, while the other is ignorant and content with contentment.

It's sad to know that the best thing that could ever happen to you was simply just that and nothing more. There was no happily ever after for people like Draco and I. Our architect, our author, the mastermind that controlled our plot line, didn't write our destinies to be as they should have been. But sometimes, when you experience something as real as we did, it would be enough. The past would be enough to satiate our bodies and minds, no matter how we ignored that both of us needed more than that.

We always had our version of love in our thoughts, and the world and reality could never get to us there. There's a good thing about having thoughts like I do; they start within me, and they stay within me unless I decide to change things. No one can stumble into that part of my life mistakingly and create problems for me along the way, not again, not like he did. No one can make problems for us, because there was technically no longer an "us."

We have our own lives now, but it makes me smile to know that I encompass a little space in his mind, his heart, as he does in mine. There are no fairy tales for people like us, and though we wish it was some other way, there is just no way of fighting it. To fight destiny is to lose a battle immediately; it doesn't matter if you come up on top in the end. If you looked back to what you had tossed aside and harmed to get to that certain point, you would see a mass grave of everything that you gave up.

Not all his letters may not be physically existent anymore, having been burned, ripped, or lost, but their messages will always be burned in the circuits of my brain.

We survive by our words. We simply survive.


	8. Our Little Secrets, Cont'd 4

**The Love Connection**

_Tinsadisaster_

**Summary: **Series of quotes inspiring short stories, with little or no connection at all, about the one thing that breaks the bonds of society and the bonds of the heart. DMHG

**Disclaimer: **I give full credits of the characters to JKR. I'm only borrowing them for the night.

**Author's Note: **

This one was due a very long time ago! I actually had half the chapter done about a couple months ago, but I felt I was trying to hard to push my ideas. Usually, they just flow, and that's when I write my best work. But this has got to be the best chapter I've written in a while. The story could have twisted and turned so many ways, but I love how it worked out in the end. It's a long one.

**This is the second chapter of a mini-story. The first chapter of the mini-story is actually the one right before this, Chapter 7. If you don't understand what I'm saying, please please please go to Chapter 7 and read the important author's note. Otherwise, you will be so lost! **

Thank you for waiting so long. Thank you for reviewing and reminding me that this needed to get updated as well. Enjoy!

Don't forget to **REVIEW**!

* * *

_Previously:_

_We have our own lives now, but it makes me smile to know that I encompass a little space in his mind, his heart, as he does in mine. There are no fairy tales for people like us, and though we wish it was some other way, there is just no way of fighting it. To fight destiny is to lose a battle immediately; it doesn't matter if you come up on top in the end. If you looked back to what you had tossed aside and harmed to get to that certain point, you would see a mass grave of everything that you gave up. _

_Not all his letters may not be physically existent anymore, having been burned, ripped, or lost, but their messages will always be burned in the circuits of my brain._

_We survive by our words. We simply survive. _

**_Let's take time to actually look over the letters that Hermione keeps talking about, and see how things change for her as Draco steps back into her life, making her less cynical about love and destiny, so she can finally accept things as they should be…_**

* * *

**Our Little Secrets, Con'td.**

_Malfoy,_

_In response to your first letter, I will oblige your request, only if we agree to some terms. _

_First and foremost, you will never refer to yourself as my "dirty diary." It's just __wrong__ on so many levels. You can come up with a catchier nickname, but if it involves anything inappropriate in any sexual way possible, then I will stop my correspondence. I'm doing something that I should never do, especially with the likes of you, and that is, I'm trusting you to keep your word about this._

_No blabbing to passerbys and friends. Surely you can make a list of reasons why you should keep this little pen pal thing in your hands only; namely, you are a Pureblood and I am a Mudblood, and according to the rules of your kind, interaction is betrayal to the blue blood or whatever legend your lot has created to impose this self-created superiority complex that is sadly outdated. We're living in a different world, Pureblood, and I suggest you find out where you stand: with the future or the past._

_I'm doing this for purely literary companionship. If I spill my thoughts, then I demand replies that go beyond "That's such a stupid belief, get a new one." If you would like to give rebuttals about what I send, then by all means, do. I love a challenge, and I've been known to send boys running to their mums with my wit. _

_You have been warned, Pureblood. I'm not doing this for shits and giggles. And yes, I just wrote that. Don't be so shocked. _

_Until next time,_

_Mudblood_

* * *

**Mudblood,**

**Why would I tell anyone about this? Do I really look like I want my head served on a platter, personally decapitated by the Dark Lord himself? Or even worse, to hear the mutterings of the hallways to be that a Slytherin has degraded himself enough to converse with a Gryffindor (a Ravenclaw would be tolerable, but no one else, especially Hufflepuffs.) However you're a shining exception, you always were. **

**From what I've gathered of you these past few years, I've known enough of your scheming and plotting to conclude that your mind is by far your best commodity, and that you must have magicked the Sorting Hat to put you in Gryffindor. If only you were in Ravenclaw, then maybe we wouldn't be confined to **_**letter writing**_**. But then again, you'd also need a total blood transfusion, and I bet that would be difficult. **

**Anyways, I've read your past "lost" letters, and I have one thing to say: Do not write of what you have no experience of; it is the work of a hypocrite. Have you ever been in a legitimate relationship, ever? No, that stint with that bulky hairy Bulgarian monster does not count as a relationship, and no, that sad pathetic excuse of a fling with the Weasel does not count either. And don't think that I haven't heard of your dealings with the Ravenclaw crowd. You have better chances having a go at the girls than the blokes in that group; you know what they're hiding behind their textbooks, right? Their lack of affinity for females, if you catch my drift. Besides, do you honestly think those poofs could have satisfied you? They'd be reciting latin transcriptions in their heads while they would attempt a feel at your bosom. **

**I'm really trying to keep this non-sexual, but for some reason you're making it very hard. I really hope you don't run away after you read this. Your amateur cynical style amuses me more than First Years who deserve to be bullied. **

**The Pureblood

* * *

**_Pureblood,_

_Explain to me why I was almost assaulted by a Gryffindor bloke the other night. He asked me for a tutor session for a course we are taking together, but during the library date, he was jittery and looked like he wanted to bolt from the room, but kept willing himself to stay at the table. Halfway through the night, he put his hand on my knee, and after I glared at him, a sharp suggestion if I might add, he proceeded to molest my mouth and squeeze my chest like there was some sort of balloon-popping contest going on._

_Excuse me, for this is a topic that I usually try to keep away from these letters, but it really bothers me still. Why do you boys not stop when there are obvious signs that you must? _

_Confused M.B._

* * *

**Mudblood,**

**You really know how to pick your dates. Sounds like you've caught a randy schoolboy in the peak of his heat. He obviously had dirty intentions, and he's severely misdirected, so that's an obvious formula for a horrible partner. Next time, if the bloke is staring at your chest or checking out your legs while he asks you for "help", I suggest you send him to Madam Pince or Professor Dumbledore. That will surely get rid all of his questions.**

**If I were you, I'd pick the most modest, most horrible jumper, preferably the kind that Weasel likes to sport during the holidays, and you'll be safe and secure. No bloke can go for a grope when a kitty with big blue eyes is staring at them. If you can, make the kitty look like the orange furball you call your pet. **

**Oh, and I suggest you learn the pressure points of the human body. Smash his nose, whack his jugular, or simply swing at his family jewels and your problem will be solved. Never use any of those tactics on me, because I will punch you right back, kicking your reproductive organs and all. You'll never have children.**

**I hope this answers your question.**

**Pureblood

* * *

**_Pureblood,_

_If I ever feel the need to become reproductively inactive, then I know just the right person to go to._

_Mudblood

* * *

_**Mudblood,**

**I'll do it for free. I wonder how it would feel, to know that I ruined Weasel's chances of creating his own small nation of his own. I would take out a page of the Daily Prophet just for the ocassion, send out my little note to the magical world. I wouldn't publish anything big. Just a simple "World, you're welcome" would suffice. **

**Blood Pure

* * *

**

I waited a few days, in between letters, to think of interesting things to write. I talked about everything that went through my mind, with Malfoy, and it was refreshing to talk to someone who fought me and didn't back down. When he thought I was being a complete idiot, he called me out on it. He taught me humility, which he said was a trait that I was lacking. He also that I needed to stop being a philosophical dimwit and start really writing what I thought about things; he said to stop holding back, which I admit I was doing, and to spill the truth. And to use as many swear words as possible, because as he believed, it was the exclamation point that all statements needed.

Our letters were frequent, but not daily. Sometimes I went a week without corresponding with him because I was still busy living my hectic life. He was apathetic, and only commented that I was too sensitive for my good to be insulted by the little cuts that he liked to add in his letters. He never missed an opportunity to make rude criticisms about my hair, the bagginess of my shirts, the modesty of my skirts, and the million other complains that he apparently felt he needed to point out, to keep me humiliated.

Sometimes he contributed certain topics in our letters that surprised me. Our letters stopped being witty little jokes and started becoming personal, in a way that I never thought I would be, especially with a Slytherin, especially with a Malfoy. He spoke of the lack of connection he felt with his acquaintances, the many girls that were after his "lucky charms" and how he nearly impregnated one of them, and the small, miniscule hints of his feud with his parents. To be fair, I told him stories from my childhood, explained what my parents did for a living, and revealed how being pulled into the magical world harshly affected my muggle life.

_Pureblood,_

_Your prejudices scar me, and these wounds will not heal. Though I use the "M" word like it was a second name to me, I still feel uncomfortable sometimes, remembering all the dark times in my life that are connected to just that word. When you first threw it in my face, the time I questioned your athletic abilities in Quidditch, you wouldn't believe how hard it was to __not__ let you see me cry. It was the first sign that I was different, would always be wherever I was, and that there was no way I could change things. Remember what I said a few letters back, about destiny and how I believe it shapes us and not the other way around? Well, I've fought hard enough to know that it is not worth the fight. I'm still just a Mudblood, as simple and not sugar-coated as it is._

_While muggles inflict prejudice based on race, skin color, and family trees, the wizarding world is not too far behind, basing their hate on blood and affiliations. What makes your blood blue, and mine muddy? Who taught you to be this way? Who was your mentor for hate? Do you stop thinking that way, and if you do, does your perception of the world change? Or do you follow the rule that people can't change no matter how hard they try?_

_I won't lie; I have my reserved thoughts about specific Purebloods. I won't say that I'm angelic in my thoughts. I hate too, but my hatred is based upon solid evidence, upon life experience, not by the words of my father. _

_This is the present, Malfoy. Will you think as if you were in the past, or will you change and think as if you were one of the future minds? Do you think you could take the plunge? Go down that rabbit hole?_

_Muddy Blood_

He didn't answer this letter, or the next one I sent. Though we weren't best friends outside of our postal secret, he seemed to be a little crueler whenever we happened to encounter each other in the hallways, classrooms, and green campus of Hogwarts. He didn't do his usual routine of glaring, staring, smirking, or bullying. He simply looked me over and insulted Harry and Ron or whoever I was with at the time, and walked away, without one glance at me. For years, I hardly cared about his presence; he was always just the annoying little boy that liked to "pull my pigtails", as my mom liked to call his rude behavior. He was and always would be, so I thought, a murmur in the background while I lived my life with people I knew were much more important than him. If there was a class reunion, he would be the bloke that I smiled at once, maybe, and then never see again.

Now, he's the face that I look for in the seas of my aged-face crowd of friends. It's funny how life turns around and bites you where the sun doesn't shine, right? Everything that you thought you wanted and everything you don't care about switch roles and in the middle of the transformation you are left standing, split in two, not knowing if you are more of your former self or the newer, improved version. There lies the defining moment of your life, this decision of stepping forward or staying behind, knowing you can't straddle both lines.

He chose his side, and I was forced to choose mine. He was hesitant at first, and he admitted this to me, his deepest confession, and it hurt to know that no matter what we did, there would be an end to us.

* * *

**Granger,**

**Once, when Professor Dumbledore asked to speak with me privately, he asked me which side I would choose, if the War was to occur. I was taken back, because he was so blunt about it. I didn't answer him, because I honestly did not know what to say. I excused myself, but he made sure to make a lasting effect on me. He told me something he said he repeated to Potter, something that he said he learned the hard way from life. Dumbledore told me that there were Dark times ahead, a not-so-subtle hint about the Dark Lord, but importantly, he told me that once the right moment came along, I would make the hard decision of choosing between what is right and what is easy.**

**What if I don't have that privilege, Granger? What if what is easy is actually as difficult as what is right? What if I can't make out the distinct line between what I should do, and what I shouldn't? What if I make the wrong choice?**

**For years, I followed my father's example, thinking he was the epitome of what was right. For years, I watched my father make mistake after mistake, getting cut down in rank slowly, from one of the Dark Lord's highly favored followers to his favorite victim for impossible tasks and improbable punishments. For years, I wondered if, not once, I joined the Dark Lord's ranks, would I be subjected to the same humiliation? **

**I've watched you and your gang face obstacle and obstacle, yet still you always come up on top, the victor in every battle. What is it about you? Are you just luckier than most? Or is the Gryffindor courage as strong as Dumbledore likes to exaggerate in the Welcoming Dinners? I wonder, if I were to join your side, would I be as fortunate as you lot? Or will I be the joke of the show, like my father, but for a different side this time? **

**I thought I could choose my own route, a path diverged from both good and evil, a path just for me. When life gives you two options, no matter how wealthy you are, there is no way to make a rip in the universe to create a third option, the easy option. It would be so easy to run away from it all, to ignore the choice, but if I were to do that, I would dead as soon as I escaped. Hence, easy is not always so easy. **

**If Dumbledore asked me which side I would join six months ago, I would have made my decision almost immediately. If he were to ask me now, I would be on the fence. You know why, Granger? It's all because of you. **

**You've changed me in ways that my father would never accept. **

**Our letters are numbered. **

**Pureblood**

I could tell that something was bothering him, but he would never go into detail exactly why he always seemed to have some underlying message between the lines of what he wrote to me. He was writing about the oncoming War and his anxiety over what he was going to do, but it seemed like the choice was already made for him and there was only time before he literally went to the dark side and I would lose him forever. He promised that he would choose his destiny, but both of us knew what I thought about destiny. Destiny was a blood red stamp that marked us all, and no matter how hard we strive to rub that ink off, we would always become exactly that. I was supposed to believe that people could change, but it seemed that people I've encountered in my life always changed for the worse.

* * *

Harry and Ron caught on to our secret, but they didn't know the complete truth.

"You seem to be receiving a lot of letters these days, Hermione," Harry observed one morning during breakfast.

"Yeah, I know," I said, spreading butter on my bread, trying to be as calm as possible. I never read any of his letters in their presence. I never told any of our friends, even Ginny, that I was talking to Malfoy. I never met him outside of our letters, never lingered in his presence whenever people were around. I had nothing to be worried about, but I was scared.

"Do you have some boyfriend you haven't told us about?" Harry asked, bringing Ron's attention to the conversation.

"No, not really," I replied. Ron nearly choked on the bread he was stuffing down his throat. Harry handed him a goblet of pumpkin juice, which he accepted. He drank the entire cup, and then slammed it onto the table. Then he returned the attention back to me.

"What do you mean, _not really_? How does a girl _not really_ have a boyfriend?" Ron asked, his voice dripping in sarcasm. I knew he wasn't being a jealous prick, because we've gone that dangerous path before, of relationships and disappointments. We had our fling and realized the pieces didn't really fit, and so we parted ways, but stayed friends, a feat that was remarkable considering how intricate our lives were woven. I knew he was just being a big brother, a protective bastard willing to poke the eyes of any wizard that tried to look up my skirt.

Just then, the owls flew into the Great Hall, dropping letters in people's hands. Harry and Ron watched them, wondering which one would give me mine.

A grey owl flew in my direction, and just like clockwork, dropped a letter on my plate. I stared at the parchment while Harry and Ron stared at me, their expressions revealing their disbelief in my earlier lies.

"It's probably from my mum," I muttered, moving my arm to stuff the letter into my book bag. Harry swiped the letter from my fingers before I could protest, and ripped it open. I sat in horror as he read whatever Malfoy meant for me. He stared at the letter for a moment and his eyes turned a darker green, while my face turned a bright red.

"I think our little Hermione is growing up," Harry joked, passing the letter to Ron. The red head squinted as he read the short note.

"What's with the secret code names, Hermione?" Ron asked, focusing on his breakfast again.

"I bet they're just pet names, albeit weird, but whatever. At least we know the bloke is a wizard, and a Pureblood at that," Harry stated.

"How'd you manage that, Hermione? You spend half your time in the library, and the other half in your classes. Did you manage to catch a wizard in the five minutes you give yourself before the transitions in your schedule?" Ron was being spiteful, but his comment was not completely untrue. I did spend quite a bit of my time and effort on my education.

"Are you sure you haven't started things with Viktor Krum again? The last I heard, he was dating some Norwegian super model. You aren't having an affair via parchment, are you?" Harry chuckled, thinking he was so witty. I threw a grape at his forehead, aiming for his scar. "You have terrible accuracy. That almost went up my nose."

"Well, whoever he is, your boyfriend has very feminine handwriting, which is never a good sign," Ron commented, tossing the letter back to me. I stuffed the letter in my book bag, finally, and jumped up from the table, leaving without an excuse.

I didn't speak to them for the rest of the day. I ignored their invitations to go to Hagrid's place, didn't sit with them during dinner, and went to the lake to think, instead of the library, which was the first place they'd go to find me.

It wasn't too cold, but there was a refreshing breeze that felt delicious against my skin. By the light of the bright moon, I read the letter. I avoided it all day, not wanting to know what Harry and Ron already knew.

* * *

**M.B., **

**There's a Hogsmeade weekend coming up, and I was wondering if you would like to meet me there, to talk. There's something really important that I need to ask of you. **

**P.B.

* * *

**It was the first time that either of us offered to meet in person. It was nerve-wracking to say the least. As I tossed and turned in my bed, thinking about his request, I admitted to myself that I was affected, and by a simple plea too. Usually, if a boy asked you if you wanted to go to Hogsmeade, it meant he had particular feelings for you, and wanted to see if you were girlfriend material. Except this was Malfoy. When it comes to Malfoy, generalizations are never good enough. Why? _Because he is Draco bloody Malfoy_.

I lost one night of sleep over his note, but wasn't willing to lose any more, so I replied the very next morning, rushing towards the owlery before breakfast. I knew he would get the message by the time we were all sipping on juice and spreading jam on our bread. I sat in between Harry and Ron. Seeing as one boy was left handed and the other right handed, I found myself in a tough situation. My elbows kept bumping into theirs, so I gathered up my stuff and sat across from them.

I was chewing on scrambled eggs, when I saw him walk into the hall. He walked smoothly to his table, dumped his bags on the floor, and took a seat with his friends. He rolled his sleeves up carefully and was starting to eat when he looked up from his plate, and saw me ogling him. He smirked, and I was brought out of my trance. I quickly realized that I had been caught staring. My face nearly dropped into my lap in shame, but the wooden table, fortunately enough, stopped me.

"What's wrong, Mione? Got cramps?" Harry asked.

"I feel like I'm delivering a baby, Harry," I told him, emphasizing more than I planned to.

"I think you should go to the bathroom," Ron said, bug-eyed.

"Okay," I quietly said, before gathering my things and leaving.

I heard them whispering as I walked away.

"Aye, Harry, what do you think is going on with Mione?"

"Ron, she's a girl. Do I look like the best person to ask about that topic? Yeah, exactly."

I chuckled, in spite of how rutty I was feeling.

I knew Malfoy wasn't going to do the obvious and follow me, because he probably needed some food in him, first and foremost. If anything, he'd cater to his needs before mine. I thought this was a warning sign, a flashing red button in regards to our relationship, or lack thereof, but I ignored it.

Instead, I thought about what this "important thing" could be. I knew for sure he wasn't going to ask me to be his girlfriend. He still hated me for who I was, for the most part anyways. He might be a little attracted to me, but that was already pushing it. I had nothing special to offer to him, except for my mind and our letters. I'm not the best expert on witch-wizard couplings, but I'm pretty sure that isn't enough to power a real relationship.

It could pertain to the decisions he said he was being forced to make, but I highly doubted he would expand on this, especially in public. So after arguing with myself, I realized that I was wasting my time trying to figure Draco Malfoy's intricate psyche out. I had a better chance creating gold from coal, using the Muggle method, without magic.

So I put the thought aside and continued with my daily routine of going to my classes, feeding my stomach, taking a shower, and getting ready for bed.

I tried to pretend that tomorrow was going to be another boring Saturday, but I knew it wasn't. I was going to spend the day with Draco Malfoy. How often could I say that in my lifetime? So far, only once, and that's probably all I'm ever going to get.

I still stayed up longer than I planned, losing sleep over a boy I could never get my hands on.

But I woke up the next day, took another shower, got dressed, and ate breakfast, like it was an ordinary Saturday anyways. I tried to be sneaky with Harry and Ron about the whole Malfoy endeavor, but they were fishing for details. I gave them nothing. I was on the verge of lying to them, saying I was meeting my lesbian lover, but then they'd really follow me around, and that was exactly what I didn't want.

And then they'd tell everyone and then the whole Hogwarts population would believe that I liked doing weird stuff with only girls, and just the thought of watching my Professor's reactions to the news could probably be enough reason to just give up on school and just live under a rock or return to the Muggle world. _Just kidding._

I didn't say anything, important that is. I still acted polite, because that's just who I am. I excused myself to get ready for the day out with Malfoy. I didn't wear anything special, revealing, or new for him. I wore what I always wore. I wouldn't change my style to fit his taste. I am a strong, thoughtful witch. Plus, that would be too expensive for my wallet anyways.

I waited in the courtyard, by the fountain. I watched everyone leave for Hogsmeade and got very antsy. I thought he was pulling my chain and just wanted to see me suffer in silence. I also thought that if he actually decided to show up, he'd be wearing a ridiculous disguise, so I had no chance of recognizing him.

Harry and Ron asked why I was sitting by myself, and I told them the truth, somewhat.

"I'm waiting for my friend," I said.

"Friend? Whatever Mione. If that's the girl code for _lover_," Ron scoffed.

"You have a lover, Hermione? … Are you being… _safe_?" Harry asked, curious but concerned.

I wanted to laugh. Me and Malfoy? Like _that_? Doing _stuff_? … Okay, I won't be sly and say I never thought of it. It's just that – a thought, never going to become reality.

I had half a mind to lecture Ron on how stupid and inexperienced he was with females, but decided against it. I wanted him to leave with Harry in tow, so that Malfoy would show up and tell me whatever he wanted to tell me.

They finally left me to wallow in my self-pity. Even the birds left the courtyard to rest.

Malfoy was late. Very late. Unfashionably late, even.

But he finally arrived, sauntering up to me like I was the one who didn't meet up on time.

"Let's go," he ordered.

"You're late," I commented.

"I know. Follow me," he said, leading me without an explanation

I was angry and fuming, but I still followed him.

We eventually got to Hogsmeade, but he led me away from the more popular, students-swarmed areas. I found myself walking into the darkest, most dangerous areas of Hogsmeade, and I was honestly frightened for my life.

But I trusted him, oddly, with everything he was doing.

I knew I shouldn't have, but I did anyways. The letters led me to a false conclusion that he was a trustworthy friend. No, Harry and Ron were those. Malfoy? For all I knew, he was leading me to my death.

I was grasping my wand so tightly, when he finally stopped walking. He stepped inside a discrete, dimly lit café of some sorts. I saw his figure turn a corner and disappear into some room, so I followed him. No one bothered me.

I eventually was locked in some sort of cozy private room. Malfoy was facing the fireplace, looking very broody and just a little bit attractive. Just a little.

"What do you have to say for yourself, Malfoy? Leading me into this shady area, not caring to look over your shoulder to see if I wasn't being mugged or raped or bothered?" I said, to break the silence.

He looked at me, with forlorn eyes, and I immediately shut up.

"I've been Marked, Hermione," he said softly.

I gasped. I knew exactly what he meant. But also, he used my first name. I thought it was our thing to use surnames.

"When?" I asked, knowing the answer if I had asked why.

"A week ago. It took me a few days to write that letter, asking you to come here with me. I didn't know if I wanted you to know," he stated.

"Why wouldn't you want me to know?" I asked.

He stepped away from the fireplace and took off his coat. He was wearing a long-sleeve that he proceeded to unbutton. I panicked. I really wanted to believe that I was ready to see the Mark up close and personal, but I knew I couldn't deal with it. And Malfoy was basically stripping before me. He was wearing an undershirt, so he was still decent, but he was still stripping.

He took me by the arm and forced me to look at it. It was a pale pink, but I could see its shape. I held my breath.

He was officially Marked.

_Destiny._

The word floated around my mind.

I had no words to say to him.

He noticed this, and then pushed me away.

"See why I wanted to hide this from you? You are so disgusted by it, by me, that you have _nothing_ to say. You're Hermione bleeding Granger. You have something to say for _everything_!" he screamed. His hair was mussed up, his eyes a dark gray, and his muscles flexing.

I found my voice.

"I'm not disgusted by you. I'm just speechless, that's all. There's a difference between being so turned off by an idea to not even have a good thought about it and being shocked by something. It's a little small, but there is. Just like you and accepting me as a Mudblood. You used to _hate_ me, because of what you were taught to know. You had absolutely nothing good to say to me, so you only said bad things. But look at you now. You even _talk_ to me like an equal. You're probably shocked, somewhere inside that heart you trap beind so many walls of defense, that you can find yourself changing in this way, but I know thougt you feel inclined by nature to dislike me, some part of you does like me as who I am, a Mudblood."

I didn't know if he could make sense of what I was saying. I felt I needed to make him see that I wasn't disapproving of who he was now, just because of a mark on his skin, because I knew that he was not defined by that mark. He was still the Malfoy I knew, just with a special tattoo. His beliefs and mannerism did not change, despite the physical disturbance.

"You are still _you_! You're still stubborn, condescending, and mouthy; that hasn't changed. You still throw insults like arrows so expertly that I wonder how badly you were bullied for you to end up so defensive. You say things that make me panic and cringe and feel dirty, all at the same time, and I know that's exactly why you say them; just to see my response. You still have the same strangely wired brain, spewing out the same strange thoughts; that also hasn't changed. Tell me, Malfoy, do you feel _influenced_ by this mark? What does it mean to you? Do you see this symbol as the one illustration that represents who _you_ are as a wizard?"

I let the questions hang in the air.

He was fighting a fight that I was not privy to. It was an internal battle that I faced long ago. My version was a lot different from his, but I knew he was fighting himself. All the insecurities and doubts he kept locked up were finally aggravating him. All the self-hatred he collected over his adolescence was being thrown at him like an endless supply of grenades, causing blow after blow of pain. All the life experiences that scarred him were coming back to the forefront of his mind, and those invisible wounds were being reopened and were bleeding like they were fresh.

This was the fight I won. If I could do it, then Malfoy could do it too.

"Don't shy away from the pain, Malfoy. Face it. I did. Look at me. I'm not your personal symbol of happiness, but I don't doubt myself as often as you do. I know where I stand, Malfoy. Where do you stand, in your life? _**Are you the commander or do you follow**_?"

I was intentionally making him angry. It would make him see the sense of my message more clearly. Draco Malfoy was a curious subject, so I treated him differently. If he is angry, he'll tell the truth. If he is calm, he'll tell two-faced lies, offering them to you like chocolate rolled up in gold foil, and he'd still tell you he's giving you honest gold. I needed to prod and prick him before he'd face the truth, before he'd face himself.

"I do not follow," he gritted out. Then he bent over, howling in pain.

"What's wrong?" I cried, running to his side. He pushed me away, but I stood my ground. The Mark was burning, for all I knew. Maybe the Dark Lord felt his traitorous feelings.

I was scared for him.

"Tell me what to do, Malfoy," I pleaded. I couldn't help if he was like this. If anything, my touch was probably amplifying his pain.

"Just talk to me, Granger. Keep talking to me. Walk me through this. Stay with me, please. Just stay," he begged. He fell to his knees and wrapped his arms around my midsection. He quivered and shook as he fought the pain that I could only imagine it felt like a slow but dull torturous death.

"It's going to be okay, Draco," I said, not even knowing I accidentally let his first name slip from my tongue. "I'm here, a dirty Mudblood as I am, but I'm still here. I won't let you go through this alone. I won't walk away, like everyone you ever trusted. I won't judge you. I won't let my prejudices rule what I feel about you. You are Draco Malfoy. You are strong. You are your own wizard. No one rules you. You rule you."

He gripped my stomach harder, so hard that it was hurting _me_, but I didn't say a word. My pain was miniscule in comparison to his. If only I could take up some of his pain…

"Granger, I'm sorry," he kept saying, like a prayer.

My hands came up to his hair and the back of his neck. I rubbed circles on his neck, hoping it would distract him from the pain. My fingers ran through his hair, a thing I always wanted to do, but never dreamed I would.

I held onto him, and he held onto me. His pain was ebbing away. I could feel his grasp grow weaker, until he no longer was holding me. His head laid on his chest and his hands dragged onto the ground, but I stayed where I was.

I waited for him to move. I knew that what just happened was monumental in his eyes. He just touched a Mudblood willingly, cried in front of one, and said sorry several times. It was against his supposed nature, but he did it all anyways. I bet he felt torn.

He lifted his head and looked up at me, looking past who he saw me as before, and finally through a new lens. I stared back at him, wide-eyed and breathless. I wanted to kiss him, for some reason, but I didn't. It would break the boundaries between us, would transform us from pen pals and associates/friends to something more. He could barely handle us as close associates. His world would tumble over if _something more_ came into the picture. My world would crash as well.

It was in that moment that I knew I fell for Draco Malfoy.

I cared way too much for him than I should have. I held him like I used to hold Harry when he was in pain. I soothed him with my words, telling him the truth about how I perceived him. I fought him with all my might, but still considered his feelings at the same time. I followed him here, not even thinking he had cruel intentions. I had my full trust in him, though he probably still had his doubts about me.

I didn't know much about love, but I did know that it involved giving support, trusting without a doubt, being compassionate, and feeling some sort of adoration for another person, whether it be spiritual, physical, or mental.

I loved Draco Malfoy, no matter from which angle I looked at things.

It wasn't the typical sort of love with stuffed animals, lollipops, and candy. It was the sort of love that ripped stupid half-dreamed beliefs apart and made new ones. It was the sort of love that made me be a better person than I originally was. It was the sort of love that kept me awake at night, and now, kept me aware of how powerfully I felt for another person, to the point where I wanted to absorb their pain so that they may have the chance to breath easier.

I didn't tell Draco Malfoy I loved him.

He didn't tell me that he loved me either. I wasn't sure of that just yet.

But we had a moment, and from there, we interpreted things the way we felt like seeing them. He may have seen this as another confusing Mudblood experience, or he could have felt the type of love for me as I did to him. He never said a word, so I will never know.

He pulled himself up and fixed his appearance. He pulled on his discarded clothing. He put that cold, stone mask back on, and told me that it was time to go back to Hogwarts.

I followed him again, silently.

He safely brought both of us back to the fountain where he found me.

He stopped there, still not turning to face me.

"Don't speak of this to anyone," he said, seriously and distant.

He didn't wait for my response.

He swiftly retreated to the castle, and I was left, now the one who was torn.

This was the end I was dreading.

This was the end of the letter-writing.

This was the end of our pseudo-friendship.

This was the end of Draco Malfoy and Hermione Granger.

This was the end of us.

I sat down by the fountain, crying openly at my loss, not caring if everyone saw.

I didn't care if they thought I had a bad Hogsmeade trip, lost my secret boyfriend, or any other gossip that came up after.

What I did care about was that I loved Draco Malfoy, but he was lost to me.

I could not save him from himself, from his destiny, or from his self-doubt.

It was his fight, and it seemed that no matter how hard he held me back there, I could not fix what years of parental damage, societal pressures, and self-hatred did to him. He was a Marked man, and though he said he ruled his own life, I knew that he was still weak and would follow the orders of another weaker wizard, the Dark Lord.

I could only sit by this fountain and hope that someday, some moment far in the future, he finally found the courage to end the struggle within him and see the light. Only when he was content with who he was, would he remember me, and that moment we had, and maybe hopefully, find the courage to find me, to face me again, and to kiss me.

Even if I kissed him, in that private room in the dark, shady area of Hogsmeade, I wouldn't have made him fall in love with me. He was too blind to his struggle to realize my place in his life.

To him, I was probably a messenger of bad news: Fix yourself or have an awful life being ruled like a dog. To him, I was probably the catalyst of the epiphany he needed to finally make the biggest decision of his life.

I wouldn't know.

I never spoke with Draco Malfoy after that day.

I never received a letter with his name signed at the bottom in a secret code name.

We died that day, at the fountain, and only he had the power to revive us.

* * *

I moved on, as did he, and our lives fast-forwarded with the War and its tragedies.

I saw him on the battlefield, but I fought him.

He hid behind his Mark and his Death Eater mask, but I knew he was there, fighting me and my allies, and also fighting himself at the same time.

Like I said, he made his decision, and I was forced to make mine.

The War ended, with Harry Potter victorious over the Dark Lord.

We mourned the dead and then celebrated the coming of a new age, the one where the

Dark Lord didn't exist and would never exist ever again.

Draco Malfoy was sentenced as a participant in Death Eater activity, but was not ordered to be Kissed. Key characters were executed, such as Bellatrix Lestrange, but some of the younger ex-Death Eaters were pardoned. Draco and the others, however, were sentenced to a life under constant ministry patrol. It was just as bad as getting your soul sucked, in my opinion, but the higher ups saw that it was necessary, to squash any inkling of a Dark Lord sequel.

Seeing the unreliability of Dementors, the magical ministry got rid of them after the executions, somehow, and set up a new rule of punishment. The Order of the Phoenix really became an order of law. Aurors were trained to handle all types of magical mishap. Harry and Ron led the forefront of the recruitment honest and trustworthy wizards and witches who wished for a better life for their children and their children's children.

I was very proud of them.

Harry and Ginny got married and had a basketful of children. Harry never looked so happy in his life. He deserved to have a family; it was the only thing he wished for throughout his troublesome young life.

Ron and I tried to have what Harry and Ginny had, attempting again at the imitation of a happy life, but I held back and pushed him away. I couldn't handle what he wanted, so I told him to find someone else. He did. They're very happy together now. I was informed their fourth child is due soon.

Everything started marrying off, and soon, I was one of the few Hogwarts students that I knew that were still single, and not through divorce. My friends called me the "eternal bachelorette."

I had my flings with several wizards and muggle men. I fell in love only one or two more times after Draco Malfoy, but the feelings never lasted as long as the ones I had for him. It could have been that he was my first love, and my mum always told me the first would always stick in a woman's mind. I guess she's right.

I found myself at the Hogwart's 10th year reunion for my batch. Being older and seeing everyone so happy, living settled lives together made me want to go home and climb into bed, alone. The idea was very depressing to me, so I stepped outside for a breath of fresh air.

I found the fountain that meant so much to me and sat on its edges. Water wasn't flowing in it anymore. Hogwarts was closed down a couple years after my graduation, and another school was built. Hogwarts then became a national magical landmark in the wizarding world, though it was still hidden on Muggle maps.

Harry and the Minister of Magic felt that it was destroyed beyond repair by the battle, so they decided to keep it like it was and start from scratch. Besides, it was wrong to cover up what happened there; the future had to know what the evils of the past was capable of doing. Harry and the Minister realized it was time for a change and so a new school was created, built, and inaugurated for the likes of Albus Dumbledore, Sirius Black, and the many fallen characters whose deaths impacted our lives now. Without them, I would not be alive, or living freely for that matter.

I had the privilege to cut the ribbon with Harry and Ron, during the inauguration. It was one of the best moments of my life, and trust me, I've had a full life, which includes the horrible class reunions.

Unforunately, it was my turn.

The rubble was set aside, but we all could see the damage that was caused by the spells and the deaths of the wizards and witches that fought here. I bet it was hard for some of my friends to come and have a party in the place where their loved ones were killed, but we all deal with the concept in our own way.

I had a hard time dealing, so I had to step outside. But even then, I found monuments that brought tears to my eyes, like this fountain I was sitting on.

I lost so much because of the War. I lost my friends, members of the family I was informally adopted into despite my end with Ron, professors, and my enemies. I lost my innocence, in a spiritual way, with the deaths that I saw first-hand, some which were caused by me. I lost so much, but I gained enough to find balance in my life.

But at this fountain, this dirty basin, I specifically lost my first love.

I didn't see Draco Malfoy at the party. I didn't think he would show up anyways. He wasn't on the winning side.

Harry, who was a little bit tipsy, stumbled into my self-pity party. I called out his name to mark my presence and he nearly toppled over in surprise.

"Mione, what are you doing here? Shouldn't you be inside with the others, drinking?" he asked, adjusting his glasses. Yes, he still wears glasses, but not the same pair from his adolescence.

I chuckled. Of course, I should be inside with the others, _drinking_.

"I wanted to breathe, Harry, so I stepped outside," I replied.

"Oh, okay" he said, offhandedly, looking around him. Now I was completely sure he needed to pee. "Do you mind?"

I told him no and tried to hum while my best friend urinated somewhere near me.

"I'm really sorry about that, Mione. Come inside soon, okay? We can't celebrate being old without you there too!" he exclaimed, not daring to hug me.

I told him I would come in soon. He nodded and stumbled back into the party.

I had more thinking to do.

I stayed at the fountain for a while after Harry left.

But a voice brought me out of my thoughts.

It was a voice I never imagined I'd hear again.

"Knut for your thoughts, Granger?"

My ears peaked up at the familiar tone. It wasn't possible. I was hallucinating. I was so depressed I was hearing things.

"Yep, it's me. You're not crazy," he said, stepping out of the shadows. He had his hands in the pockets. He was wearing a dress shirt and looked almost like he did on that Hogsmeade trip, a lifetime ago. He was taller, if possible, and older, but he was still so attractive. I mentally slapped myself for acting like a teenage girl again.

"Are you sure I'm not imagining this up?" I said, playing the coy card.

"I'm sure you imagined it up many times before, but this time, baby, it's real," he declared. He stood before me and my fingers tingled to touch him, to take him up on his promise that he really was there with me, at the fountain.

"What do you want, Malfoy?" I asked. I knew what I wanted… _him._ Even after all this time.

"I've got all I want, except for one thing, _Hermione_. What do you want?" he tossed back.

"Why should I tell you what I want, _Draco_? What are the chances you'll give me whatever I may desire in my life right now?" I tossed right back at him. I could ask questions all night. I had plenty saved up from years of wondering about why he stopped writing me letters.

"Let's not play childish games. We're adults now. We can be civil, right?"

I nodded.

One of his hands left his pocket and landed right under my chin. He tilted my face upwards.

"I see you've found our fountain," he murmured.

"I didn't know you thought of it so fondly. As far as I'm concerned, this is where you picked me and dropped me off, so many years ago," I confessed, losing my breath.

"Yes, that's true. But look at us now. We're back at the fountain, and I'm not walking away from you. Does that hold any significance to you?" he asked, bending low, making his face come closer to mine.

"Yes, unfortunately, it does. Are you still a troubled eighteen year old wizard?" I asked, not caring if I was going to hit an emotional string.

"No, _thank Merlin_. I've got you to thank for that, to be honest."

_Your welcome._

I couldn't speak. He was too close. I could smell his cologne, could almost feel his soft lips upon mine.

We might have been past our teenage years, but the way he held my face made me feel like I had the Time Turner again. We were young again, at a crossroads at our lives. He had a decision to make, and his decision would indirectly affect mine.

Except this time, he kissed me.

He wasn't my first kiss, but I've never felt so much emotion put into a singular kiss, not meant to be seductive but beyond the meaning of passionate.

He pulled me up into his arms, reminding me that he was a man now, and not a boy, and that I was a woman now, and no longer just a girl. We come from different backgrounds, have lived very different lives, and yet, we found ourselves back here, at this place and time, like _destiny. _My beliefs were changing yet again. Destiny was no longer a bad thing that marked us all for life; it was now a weapon for personal change. If it brought Draco Malfoy back to me, then it couldn't be a bad thing, not at all.

"I've been waiting to do that for many years, Hermione Granger," Draco said, when he pulled away for air.

"I wanted to kiss you that day in Hogsmeade, but I thought you weren't ready to do something so simple. I wasn't ready," I confessed, breathless.

"Are you ready for me, now?" The question was so loaded with things I didn't want to even think about, but I knew the answer.

"Why did you stop writing me letters, Draco?" I asked, knowing I was stalling. If I could have him now, then he could answer a couple of my questions. It was only fair.

"Because I couldn't find the words to describe how I felt about you then. I was scared and confused about what I wanted to do with my life. Your preaching only confused me even more, because I believed every word you said, but then I was scared to apply it to my life. I remember the pain that I felt when the Mark burned, and you were there to hold me while I went through it. It was difficult to handle, but it wasn't as painful as the thought that I let you go, without a fight, and that you were probably lost to me, forever."

I was crying at this point. There was no way of holding it in. It was too raw, too real. I was tired of holding this shit in.

"I thought you would move on with your life, Hermione. I thought you'd forget about me, the lost cause, and marry some dolt who didn't understand exactly how special you were, how influential you could be on a wizard's life. I thought you'd have kids and live happily with a family that didn't include me. I was ready to accept that you were going to end up happy without me. I deserve that torture. I put you through so much when we were young. But now that we're older, I don't plan to make you suffer any longer. I don't want to suffer either. I want to be happy, with you, Hermione."

I held onto him for my dear life. I don't know how many nights I dreamed of this moment. I don't know how many nights I cried because I thought I would never get this.

"I'm still rich, but I'm being watched all the time, by the ministry, our friends, and even strangers that only have read of what I have done in the War and automatically label me as the bad guy. If you decide to let me enter your life again, you will never have a private moment to yourself ever again. You'll get bombarded by the media, by your concerned friends, asking you if you are okay in the head. We won't be able to stroll down the streets of Hogsmeade, holding hands and eating ice cream. Our children will never be left alone. They will be bullied, but I'll teach them how to deal with it. You can teach them to be kind and strong and friendly. Oh, and smart, of course."

I chuckled. I imagined little Dracos and Hermiones, running around, invading the library, bossing the other students around, organizing groups for the prevention of some creature abuse, and terrorizing their enemies. _Was it possible?_

"I'm not an innocent man, Hermione. You know this. I've done my share of crimes against wizardkind. I've killed innocent people. I've hurt your friends. I've even attempted to hurt you. Know that if you join me in matrimony, you'll be judged and ridiculed. Know that you will have to fight your friends to keep me. Know that I'll be here, ready to welcome you home with open arms, after a hard day. Know that I'll make sure you think of no one else, when we're in bed. Know that I'll pleasure you in ways that your other partners could only dream of. Know that I'll make love to you when you need it, and fuck you when you really need me to. Know that I'll plant my seed in your womb. And know that I will love you, and our children, for the rest of our lives, every single day, even when I think you're being a bitch and you think I'm being a bastard."

He was promising so much. I wondered if I was really ready to accept his offer. I thought of Harry and Ron and how they'd react if I took Draco's hand. But then I realized this was about what _I_ wanted, not about what my best friends wanted for me. I knew what I wanted the moment he appeared from the darkness.

"So how about it, Hermione? Are you ready to include me in your life? Are you willing to put up with me, every single day? Will you make me the happiest wizard at this party?"

Talk about a loaded question.

"Are you proposing to me, Draco?" I squeaked out.

He laughed and shook his head.

"I didn't bring a ring, but if you'd like me to…"

"No, no! That's not what I meant!" I said, flailing my arms.

"Okay. Let's see how things work, and maybe I will," he said coyly, smirking that smirk that I have grown to love. "So what's your decision, Hermione Granger? Take my hand or walk away? Do you want me to write it to you in letter form? Make squares, one for yes, one for no, and maybe a third one for hell yes?"

I punched his chest, laughing. He would really do that for me.

"Yes, Draco Malfoy. I want to be happy with you," I finally declared. His smirk changed into a genuine smile, and I decided that I'd rather see him smile than smirk.

"That's good. I thought I was going to have to do something drastic if you decided to check the one box I didn't like," he said jokingly. He gathered me into his arms. I held him close, taking in his warmth.

"And what could that be?" I asked, curiously.

"I was going to throw you over my shoulder, run into that party, and claim that we're scheduled to be wed tomorrow at noon, at the Manor, and that I wanted everyone to attend. Imagine Potter and Weasley's face if I had actually done that. _Priceless_."

"Either way, you would have had me," I commented, looking straight into his grey eyes. They were aged with experience, but they were still the ones that I wanted for my… _our_ children.

"Well, seeing as I'm a Malfoy, I tend to mold thing just right so I get whatever I want, as easily as possible," he stated haughtily. I jabbed him in the side to make him shut up.

"How about we just enter that party right now and shake things up anyway?" I suggested, smirking mischievously. He liked the look, apparently.

"I always thought you had the best ideas, Hermione Granger."

"Lead the way, Draco Malfoy," I said. He took my hand and did just that.

It was the reunion of the century, to be it simply.

If this entrance was any indication of my life with Draco, then I was ready for anything that came our way, even marriage and children. I grinned at the prospect of _how_ we got these children.

But we left that fountain that night, together, and left all the loss that I felt and the doubt that he felt when we were young.

* * *

We are older now. We are wiser, stronger, and smarter.

But we don't have to resort to letters anymore.

We have each other.

And that's all we'll ever need.


End file.
